Picking Up The Pieces: A Lams college AU
by WroteMyOwnDeliverance
Summary: Alexander Hamilton is tired of feeling broken. He wants to start over, forget his past and have a fresh, new beginning at college. Then he meets John Laurens, who is a dorky, lovable goofball that also wants to get away from who he used to be. But things in the past don't always stay in the past. And promises are meant to be broken.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone! Just a warning before you read this fic: this work deals with a lot of heavy subjects such as self-harm, mental illness, eating disorders, sexual, physical, and verbal abuse, and other things that I cannot think of at this exact moment. If any of these subjects trigger you, I would advise you not to read this, because I don't want to cause any harm to your mental health! I will also have trigger warnings up at the start of chapters as a precaution.**

 **Playlist:**

 **Home-Machine Gun Kelley**

 **The Call-Regina Spektor**

 **Carry You-Novo Amor**

 **Mansion-NF**

 **Hide and Seek-Imogen Heap**

 **Can You Hold Me-NF**

 **Inner Demons-Julia Brennan**

 **Therapy Session-NF**

 **Lucid Dreams-Juice WRLD**

 **10 Feet Down-NF**

 **At My Best-Machine Gun Kelley**

 **Enjoy!**

Alexander was on the verge of a panic attack.

He had just spent ten dollars he could barely afford to spend to get a bus ride to Kings College, and now he couldn't find his dorm, or the check in, or anything.

 _Okay Alex, just breathe,_ he thought to himself. _You can do this._

"Um.. excuse me? Excuse me, sir?" He asked timidly to a man striding by with papers in his hands.

"Yes?" The man asked, looking up. He had a small name tag on his bright green sweater vest that read _Mr. Washington._

"Do you know where the..um, where the check-in is? I'm kind of lost," Alex mumbled, blushing, and looked down and his hands, fiddling with his fingers.

"Ah, yes, of course. Don't worry son, new students are always getting lost, you're not the first one," Mr. Washington said, and smiled kindly. He pointed over to the corner of the courtyard, "The check in is over at the administration building. You can't miss it, it has a big sign over the door."

"Thank you so much!" Alexander smiled and re-shouldered his backpack, then grabbed his pitifully small suitcase, resuming his search. As he started to walk off, Mr. Washington called after him, "I hope to see you in one of my classes!"

As he made his way over to the admin building, he bumped into an older boy with an afro, almost getting knocked backwards as a result.

"Hey, watch it, fag," the guy sneered, and the boy trailing him, a burly dude with short, curly hair, glared at Alex as he walked past him. Alex rolled his eyes and kept his head down until he reached the admin building.

"Hi, um, my name's Alexander Hamilton and I, um, need my room key and class schedule...?" Alex mentally slapped himself upside the head. He sounded like a complete idiot.

The girl behind the counter smiled at him.

"Hi, my name's Peggy, and here's your schedule and your key." She had the kind of grin that was infectious. "I think your roommates' already in there, but I don't know," she added, eyes sparkling.

Alex reached out and tucked the key into his pocket, fingers fumbling.

He had just started to walk away when Peggy called back, "Hey Alex, if you ever need anything, I'm in Hawthorne dorm, okay? You seem like a cool guy."

He shot her a smile over his shoulder, then continued up the flights of stairs to the third floor.

As he walked down the hallway, he glanced down at his information packet, then looked back up at the room numbers.

"Room 1804, room 1804," he mumbled under his breath, and then started as he accidentally walked into the chest of a taller student.

Alex stumbled backwards, "Sorry! Sorry, I'm just looking for my room." He looked up-and then continued looking up. The other boy had to be at least 6'0, dwarfing Alex's 5'7 frame.

The boy smiled down at him and opened his mouth, "What room do you have? Maybe I can help you find it." He spoke with a thick French accent, and Alex was slightly taken aback-he hadn't met that many people who spoke french in New York yet.

"Um-room 1804," he said sheepishly, and the boy grinned even wider. "That is right across from me! Maybe we could become friends, oui?"

Alex smiled, his confidence growing, and the boy pointed down the hall. "Five doors down from here, on your right. I hope to see you around soon," he said warmly, and started off down the hallway.

"Thank you!" Alex called after him, and headed off towards his room, counting off doors.

He arrived in front of a dark-wooded door that had the number of the room on a brass plaque next to it that shone in the hallway light. Alex took a deep breath, then put his key in the lock and turned the knob.

The door opened to a small but tidy room, with twin beds pushed against either wall and desks next to them. There was a small mini fridge between the desks at the back wall, with a microwave on top of it. Two windows were next to the desks, so that when Alexander turned his head to the left he could see into the courtyard.

His bed was on the right, it seemed, since the other bed had an explosion of clothing and office supplies all over it. Alex gently closed the door, then set his suitcase on his bed just as a boy walked out of the bathroom. Alex looked up and immediately blushed.

This guy was _hot_.

He was taller than Alex by a few inches, had big curly hair that was currently in a ponytail, and freckles were sprinkled all over his face.

Adorable, Alex thought.

He suddenly realized he had been staring for a quite awhile and resorted to heatedly looking at his suitcase instead.

"Hi!" The cute guy beamed and held out his hand. "My name's John Laurens."

Alex took his hand and offered a small smile in return. "Alexander Hamilton."

"Um, I can move my stuff if you need me to..." John trailed off and looked at Alex.

"Oh! Uh, nah, it's fine. I don't really care where I am." Alex shrugged and gestured to his stuff. "I don't really have that much here anyways."

He set his suitcase down on the bed and unzipped it, then started pulling out clothes and neatly folding them into the stack-able, refold-able containers he had brought with him.

He shoved those underneath the bed, along with his shoes, and plugged his laptop into the outlet next to his desk. It hummed to life, and he let out a small, contented sigh of happiness.

He rifled through the rest of the items on the bed and grabbed his shampoo, and headed into the bathroom before stopping in his tracks.

"Um... John?"

"Yeah?" John called from the other room, his voice muffled by the wall.

Why's there a turtle in the sink?"

John poked his head into the bathroom and grinned. "Oh yeah, that's Charlemagne."

"You have a turtle... named Charlemagne?"

John frowned and picked up the turtle. "Yes."

Alex saw the look on John's face and immediately backpedaled. "I didn't mean that I don't like it-"

"Him," John interrupted Alex.

"-him, I didn't mean that I don't like him, I was just surprised that you have a turtle... in the sink."

John laughed. "His tank is arriving sometime this week. I didn't have anywhere else to put him."

"Are turltes even allowed in here?" Alex asked, and John shrugged.

"I dunno, I just brought him along with me. I think so, but don't tell anyone jus tin case." He winked, "It can be our secret."

Alex snorted, "Yeah, okay. I think I can deal with that."


	2. Chapter 2

**TW: nightmares, alcohol, unhealthy eating habits.**

 _Water sloshed everywhere. The storm howled overhead, thunder crashing down around his ears. Rain lashed at him, waves pulled at him as he clung to his rock. He tried to keep his mouth shut, but the water was inescapable. Salt stung the cuts on his arms and legs, and he let out a small whimper. Suddenly, a giant wave smashed him against the rock, causing Alexander to loose his grip. He thrashed in the water, trying to find his rock again._

 _But it was no use. It was gone, and he couldn't see anything. It was blacker than squid ink at a new moon. His lungs burned for air until he couldn't take it. He opened his mouth, sucking for air, only to be met with water. He choked, sinking farther down, down, down..._

Alexander bolted upright, gasping. He felt nauseous, like he always did after having a nightmare.

He sat there for a few minutes, gulping air, before quietly climbing of bed and grabbing his laptop and getting back into bed. He sat with his back against the wall and turned his brightness all the way down so that John wouldn't wake up.

God, if John found out...

Alex shook the thought out of his head and started typing, every so often looking up to make sure his roommate was asleep.

He fell into his zone. He blocked everything out and just wrote.

After a few hours, it felt like he could breath easier. His mind felt clearer. He shut down his laptop and walked into the bathroom, turning on the light.

"Hey, Charlie, can I borrow your sink?" Alex whispered to the turtle.

The turtle didn't respond.

Alex grabbed his heavy-duty sleeping meds he had been prescribed for when he had nightmares and downed one with a glass of water.

Alex stroked Charlemagne's shell before turning off the lights and climbing back into bed. He fell asleep a few minutes later.

X

"Alex. Alex, wake up."

Alexander sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Wha-"

John was smirking at him. "Dude, you overslept, like, by four hours."

That woke him up.

"WHAT!"

He scrambled out of bed, looking for the clock. "John, what time is it?"

"Um-" John squinted at his watch. "It's like 10 am. Why?"

"Wait." Alex sat back down on his bed. "It's Tuesday, right?"

John nodded, then frowned. "Yeah, why?" He asked.

"Our classes don't start until Monday."

"Yeah, so? Alex, I'm not following you." John chuckled, and started to pull his hair back into a ponytail.

"Why did you say I overslept if our classes don't start until next week?" Alex said, confusion in his voice.

"Oh." John said, and laughed sheepishly. "Whoops. I meant you overslept breakfast."

Alex sighed, then rubbed his face again. There was no point of going back to bed now. And anyways, he had work to do. He slid off of his bed and grabbed his laptop off of his desk.

"What are you doing?" John was watching him from his own bed.

Alex opened his laptop. "Working."

"Working?" John looked at Alex like he had sprouted 6 more heads. "Why the hell are you working now? School hasn't even started yet!"

Alex shrugged. "I like working. Writing. It blocks out the things in my head I don't want to think about." He flushed a deep red. Shit.

Way to overshare, Hamilton.

John gave him a quizzical look. "Alex... I know we just met and everything but... If you ever need to talk, I'm a good listener."

If it was possible, Alexander went even redder. He felt like his face was on fire.

"Uh-thanks, Laurens, really, but I'm okay."

John gave him a look that said he didn't believe Alex, but he let the subject drop.

"Hey, my friends and I are going to a bar tonight. You want to come?"

Alex glanced up. John's face was adorably hopeful. He looked like a puppy who had just been offered a treat.

"Sure. But, uh, who are your friends?"

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. And the knocking didn't stop.

"Ok, ok, I'm coming, Jesus." John grumbled, getting up from the bed and walking over to the door. It swung it open to reveal a tall, burly guy in jeans and a navy sweater, with a knit beanie on his head. Standing behind him was the french dude Alex had met in the hallway the day before, with his hair in a ponytail and hands stuffed into the pockets of his windbreaker.

"Monsieur! You found your room!" The french guy laughed, barging past the other boy and smiling at Alex.

"Oui, monsieur, je l'ai fait." Alex said, causing everyone's jaws to drop.

"You speak French?!" John exclaimed.

Alex smiled and nodded. "I learned it when I was younger."

The French Dude grinned. It was obvious that he was ecstatic that some one else knew his own language.

"Weeeeelllll..." John said, turning back to the other guys. "This is Lafayette," her pointed to French Dude, "And this is Hercules." The other guy smiled and nodded at Alex. Alex smiled back shyly, ducking his head a little.

"Alexander here is coming with us and the Schuylers tonight," John said, grinning.

"Wait...who's the Schuylers?" Alex asked.

"They're sisters." Hercules explained.

"Oh." Alex nodded, even though he still didn't really understand.

"I think you met Peggy, she works at the desk sometimes at the beginning of the year. She likes showing people around, she's a people person," John clarified.

"Oh yeah, I met Peggy!" Alex said happily. "She's cool."

"Yeah, her and her sisters will be going with us," Lafayette said.

"Ok, cool." Alex smiled, but he really wanted to get back to work. His hands itched for his keyboard.

"Well, I promised Herc I would make him cupcakes for lunch." Lafayette rolled his eyes. Hercules poked him in the side. "I want my food."

"I have to go feed my child," Laf said, laughing. "See you tonight." He glanced at Alex, than glanced back at John and winked. John glared at him before closing the door.

Alex payed no attention to the wink. He was already back to writing, his mind consumed with ideas.

He fell back into his rhythm, and before he knew it John was standing in front of him.

"Alex."

"Mmm?"

Alex, did you eat anything today?"

"Go ask Charlemagne," Alex muttered. He wasn't really listening, he was too busy writing.

Suddenly his laptop was yanked out of his hands.

"Hey!" He exclaimed, grabbing for it.

"Alex. Did. You. Eat. Anything. Today?" John asked.

"What? No, it doesn't matter." Alexander snatched for his laptop again, but he was too short.

"Alex, Jesus, go eat something. I'm holding your laptop hostage until you do," John added, smirking. He slammed the lid of the laptop closed and Alex let out a small whimper.

"Fine," he snapped, and reached over to his desk and grabbed a granola bar out of one of the containers he had brought. He ripped the wrapping off and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth, swallowed it, then held out his hand.

"Hand it over."

John rolled his eyes. "Next time you're eating something sufficient," he said, and reluctantly handed the computer back to Alex.

X

"Want to see what kind of trouble we can get into tonight?" Smirked John. They were walking to the bar, which was only a block down from the college, and Alex was trying figure out John's friend group. So far he had been walking next to Peggy, who was holding hands with her girlfriend, Maria. Behind them walked Peggy's sisters, Eliza and Angelica. Hercules and Laf were walking in front of Alex, shoving each other and snickering at dirty jokes, while John rolled his eyes and tried to keep everyone from accidentally walking into the road.

"Oh God, you're going to get hammered aren't you?" Angelica sighed and gave John a look. "You are so going to regret that tomorrow."

"It's a Tuesday, I know how to restrain myself," John argued.

"You absolutely do not."

Alex smiled to himself. He was starting to like these people more and more as time went on.

When they got to the bar, John immediately ordered a pint of Samuel Adams.

"Told you," Angelica muttered to Alex, and he smiled at her. She grinned back at him.

Three pints later, John was grinning across the table at Alexander and the others were missing in action. Alex had no idea where they were, only that he was alone with a very drunk Laurens.

"Soooo... Alexander." John wiggled his eyebrows at Alex. "I have made a decision."

"John, you're drunk. Now is not the best time to make decisions."

"Nonsense," John slurred, and he pulled up a chair next to Alex.

"I have discovered something."

"And what is this something?" Alex asked, scanning the room for any of his friends.

"I have discovered that I like you," John slurred happily, leaning against Alex's arm.

"That's great John, I'm happy for you," Alex muttered. He was still distracted, looking for someone to determine how drunk his roommate was.

"No, I like like you," John grinned stupidly at Alex, who felt frozen in place.

He's drunk, Alexander. He probably doesn't like you at all, not in that way.

"And when did you discover this?" He asked. He could at least play along with this until they got back to the dorm.

"When all of my decisions started to revolve around you."

"John. We've know each other for a day. You can't possibly do that. Plus, you're drunk. Extremely drunk. You don't know what you're doing."

"Mmm, yes I do." John murmured. "Drunk John says the things Sober John is too afraid to say."

"Angelica!" Alex stood up suddenly as she appeared, almost knocking John to the ground. "Thank God you're here."

"Why? What's-oh." She looked disapprovingly at John. "Laurens, I told you not to get drunk."

"Mmm," he hummed happily.

Angelica sighed. "Can you take him back to his room? Eliza's flirting with some sleazeball and I'm pretty sure if I leave she'll get kidnapped or something." She looked at Alex hopefully.

He glanced at John, who seemed to be staring at his fingers in fascination. "Do you think he can walk?"

Angelica nodded. "Yep. I've seen him worse than this. Unless he's puking his guts out or on the floor passed out, he'll be fine."

"Okay..." Alex said wearily. He hauled John out of his chair. "C'mon, turtle man, lets go."

"By Angie!" John said, stumbling as he walked. Alex rolled his eyes.

X

Alex shoved the door to his room open, almost falling over from the weight of the boy leaning on him, and dumped John on his bed. He rolled over and groaned into the pillow. Alex watched him for a few seconds, then went into the bathroom and changed into pajama pants and a sweatshirt. When he came out, John was snoring softly, curled up in a small ball on his bed.

Alex grabbed his computer and sat on his bed, ready to get to work without being interrupted.

"Thanks, Alex." John murmured into his pillow.

Alex looked up and gave him a small smile.

"No problem."


	3. Chapter 3

**TW: mention of alcoholism and alcohol**

Alexander was furiously typing on his laptop when John woke up.

His head hurt like hell. His eyes felt like they were made of sandpaper and his mouth was as dry as sawdust.

"Ugh," he groaned, and rolled over to face the wall.

Alex peeked over the top of his computer. "You alive over there, Laurens?"

"Barely," John muttered. He sat up, his head pounding. He blinked a few times and looked over at his roommate.

Alex had giant bags under his eyes. His hair was messed up and he looked like he needed a good nights' sleep and some food.

"Alex, were you up all night writing?" He asked in amazement.

"Mm-hm."

"You need sleep!" John exclaimed.

Alex looked up and John winced. He looked like he was about to pass out.

"Nah," Alex muttered. "Sleep is for the weak." He went back to his laptop.

John sighed. "Well, I'm going to go get coffee. You want to come?"

"Sure...Just give me a minute to finish this paragraph."

John got up and peeked over Alex's shoulder. "What are you even writing about?"

Alex's breath caught in his throat. John was this close to him. He slammed his laptop closed and set it aside.

"I just write about whatever. You know, what's going on in my head and-" he glanced at John, "-what's going on outside of my head too."

What it his imagination, or did Alex blush?

John realized he had been staring and quickly looked away. He had totally screwed up yesterday by saying that he liked Alex.

 _He probably got weirded out by you yesterday. And besides, even if he is gay, from the way he looks, he has the whole world to choose from for a boyfriend. He would never choose me. I'm just the turtle guy who no one likes._

Alex looked at John.

 _God he was cute. But he would never go for you, Alex, you fuck up. You ruin everything you touch._

John broke the awkward silence. "Oh! Charlie's tank is coming today too, so we need to figure out how where to put it."

"We could put it against the wall next to the fridge," Alex suggested, shrugging. "I'm not really the best at decorating or anything, sorry." He gave an awkward laugh.

"No, that's a great plan!" John smiled warmly at Alex. Alex fought to stop his face from exploding into flames.

"Should we leave for coffee?" John suggested after a sufficiently awkward silence.

"God, yes, I need caffeine," Alex said, relieved. They both laughed.

 _Is he flirting with me?_ They both thought. _Nah_.

X

"-and after the hurricane hit, I got shipped to the States. My mom was gone, my orphanage was gone, everything. So some rescue workers took pity on me and brought me back with them. I've been bounced from foster home to foster home ever since. No one really wanted a kid who was almost grown up when they could be had a cute ten year old instead." Alex frowned at his coffee, then glanced up.

John had an expression of absolute heartbreak written across his face. "Alex... I'm so sorry," he whispered. "And I thought my childhood was bad," he halfheartedly joked.

Alex mustered up a smile. "But enough about me and my sob story," he forced a small laugh, "I want to here about you."

He blushed. _Way to sound like you're flirting, Alex._

"Well," John started, "my mom died when I was really little, and my dad... lets just say he likes drinking a little too much." He frowned. " I really do try not to drink, because alcoholism runs in my family, but sometimes I don't do that great with it," he added sheepishly. "Last night was the first night where I really got drunk in a long time."

Alex nodded. "I get it. When my dad left... I was devastated. But I think it was for the best. He liked to drink and gamble too much, too." He offered a sympathetic smile.

They were both quiet for a little while, then Alex spoke up.

"So... about last night. You said some things..."

He trailed off, looking at John.

John went red and stared at his coffee. "Listen, Alex, I know I said some stuff, but I was drunk."

Alex's face fell, but he tried to hide it. "Yeah. Totally!" He forced a smile. "I get it, don't worry."

He stood up and grabbed his coat. God, this was embarrassing. "Listen, John, I liked this and everything, but I really should go. I have some writing to do."

"Wait! Alex, just wait." John stood and grabbed Alex's arm. Alex turned to face him and John dropped his hand and stared at his shoes.

"Just because I was drunk doesn't mean that... that what I said wasn't true." He glanced up at Alex, who was looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"Alex, what I'm trying to say is-"

He was cut short as Alexander reached up and kissed him.


	4. Chapter 4

**TW: panic attack**

 _Shit. Shitshitshitshit. What the hell Alex, WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!_

But John's mouth was so soft. And Alex hadn't kissed someone like this before.

Alex pulled away. John opened his eyes and stared at him, his mouth agape. "Um," he said.

 _FUCK. FUCK ALEX HE DIDN'T LIKE IT WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!_

John's brain felt like it was short circuiting.

 _Did... Did Alex just... Kiss me? And... I think... No, I definitely liked it._

Alex felt panicky. People were looking, weren't they? He glanced around. No one seemed to be looking at them, but it felt as though a thousand eyes were watching him.

John was still staring at him. Alex flushed.

"I...I have to go," he stammered. He grabbed his jacket off of his chair and fled the coffee shop, sprinting across the courtyard.

John's brain snapped back together a second too late.

"Alex! ALEX, WAIT!" He cried. He snatched up his own jacket and ran after Alex, leaving both of their coffees abandoned on the table.

As he dashed across the green, Alex replayed everything in his mind. John hadn't pulled away, but that could mean that he had been taken by surprise, not that he had liked it. And by the look on John's face, he had definitely been taken by surprise.

"Alex! ALEX, COME BACK HERE!" He could hear John yelling at him from across the quad. He picked up the pace.

Alex was running out of breath- and distance. He had covered most of the courtyard by now and was heading for the dorms. He had no idea where he was going to hide, but he had to think of something fast- he really didn't want to have to face John.

It was at that precise moment that his brain chose to panic.

 _Oh my God. Oh my God. What's John going to think? What if John ISN'T GAY? WHAT IF HE IS AND HE THOUGHT YOU WERE THE WIERDEST PERSON HE'S EVER MET?! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO, ALEX?! YOU HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE GUY FOR THE REST OF THE SEMESTER-_

The thought hit him like a train. He hadn't thought about that before he had kissed John. He had to live with him for at least the next four months, no matter how this turned out.

He was near the dorms now. As soon as he got the chance, Alex slipped in besides one, leaning against the wall. His breathing was way up, his mind racing. Alex felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest. He slid down the side of the building. He could feel his vision tunneling, his body shaking. In the back of his mind, he was telling himself to breath, to do the focusing exercises he needed to do to control a panic attack. He knew he needed his medication. But the only thing he could really seem to focus on was how bad the situation felt.

From far off in the distance, Alex heard a familiar voice.

"Alex, thank God. I thought I'd never- Alex? Alex, are you ok? Alexander!" John sounded scared out of his mind.

"Alex, can you hear me? What's wrong?!"

"Panic attack," Alex managed to gasp out. He was trying to focus on John's words, but it was like trying to focus on one particular tree while driving past it at 100 miles per hour.

"Okay, okay, hang on, just breath, okay?" John was trying not to panic himself. "Alex, what can I do? Do you need water or-"

"Medication," Alex gasped, "Dorm. Bathroom. Red cap, orange bottle."

"Okay. Okay, I'm going to have to call Peggy to get it, I'm not leaving you here alone." Alex managed a nod, and John grabbed his phone out of his pocket.

"Please pick up, please, please," he prayed as he dialed her number.

She answered on the first ring. "Oh, hey John-"

"PEGGY! Thank God! Ok, I'm in the middle of a crisis right now, there's no time to explain, but I need you to go into my dorm room and find the orange pill bottle with the red cap on it. It's in the bathroom; I need it NOW."

"Okay, hang on, where are you?" John was amazed that Peggy was managing to keep calm while having all of this thrown at her.

"I'm at Morgan Hall. You still have a copy of our key, right?"

"Yeah, I'll be there in a sec."

John hung up and knelt next Alex. "Okay, Peggy's coming. She should be here soon. Just, like, put your head between your knees for right now and close your eyes or something." John bit his lip.

"I would, but I'm trying not to throw up or pass out- or both," Alex wheezed. He shut his eyes and leaned against the wall.

A minute seems like forever when you really need something, John thought as he watched Alex. It felt like a year had passed before he heard footsteps behind him. He stood up and whirled around to see Peggy sprinting towards them, the pill bottle clutched in one hand, water bottle in the other.

"Thank you!" He exclaimed, and he knelt next to Alexander again.

"Okay, Alex, how many pills do you need?" He asked.

"Just one."

"Okay, here." John placed one small, blue capsule in Alex's shaking hand, and he handed him the water bottle. Alex gulped it down and leaned against the wall again.

John didn't really know when he started holding Alexander's hand...it just sort of happened. But it made him feel better, like he was actually doing something. And he wanted his roommate to know that he was there, even after Alex stopped shaking and his breathing evened out.

Alex blinked his eyes open. He looked like he had gone a week without sleeping, and John was worried he wouldn't be able to get back to their dorm without passing out.

"You okay?" John asked tentatively. Alex nodded and stood up. He was a little shaky, but other than that he felt fine.

"Do you need anything?" Peggy still looked worried.

Alex shook his head. "I'm fine, really," he muttered. He was embarrassed; not many people had seen him this way, but at the same time he was too anxiety-ridden to care. He felt as though his body was on high alert, like there was something about to attack him.

When they got back to the form, Alex immediately went into the bathroom and started rummaging around in the medicine cabinet. John stayed at the door, leaning against the frame while he talked to Peggy.

"Thank you, Pegs, you've saved the day once again." John smiled at her, and she smiled back. "I'm just glad Alex is okay." Peggy peeked over John's shoulder at the bathroom door. "Is there anything that could have set off his panic attack?"

John blushed and looked down at the floor. "I'll tell you some other time."

Peggy gave him a quizzical look but nodded. "I get it," she said. "See you later, Laurens." She smiled again and closed their door, leaving John to watch over Alex.


	5. Chapter 5

**Heyyy guys so this is _super_ short, I apologize immensely, but right now I barely have time for writing. The new semester started, and I'm in an advanced English course; literally I am the first freshman _ever_ allowed in to that class and the work load is manageable, but it's kind of complicated. Plus I'm training a super smart horse that also needs mental help, and I'm part of an Honors band for school. Oh, and I'm in the middle of learning French and Polish. ****So yeah. My life is pretty hectic right now, and I don't know when I'll be able to update. Sorry!**

When Peggy left, John closed the door behind her and sat on his bed. He fiddled with his plaid comforter until Alexander came back out of the bathroom.

"Sit. Bed. Now." John gestured to the opposite bed. Alex sat, leaning against the wall and stared at his hands.

"Listen Alex... I think we need to talk." Alex opened his mouth and John cut him off before he could speak.

"Just... Please be quiet for a minute, ok?" Alex shut his mouth and frowned, but nodded.

"I know we've only been here for a day or two, but- and this is really hard to admit, so please don't make fun of me or anything- I think... I think I like you. A lot. And I don't care what you think, but it's the truth. And," John added as an afterthought, "if you want to transfer dorms or something, I totally understand." He blushed and stared at the comforter again, then glanced up at Alex.

Alex was watching John with an unreadable expression on his face. He sighed.

"John, I- I like you a lot too. But I just- how would we make this work? I mean, we live in the same dorm, we just met, and besides, I don't think you would want me, ok? I'm- I'm pretty messed up." Alexander looked out the window. John got off of his bed and crawled onto Alex's.

"I think we could make it work. And I don't think you're messed up, Alex."

Alex mumbled something under his breath.

"What?" John asked, and Alex turned to face him.

"You don't know me." He studied John's reaction. "You don't know what you'll have to deal with."

John wrapped his arms around Alex's body. He was too thin, in John's opinion, and seemed like some fragile bird, ready to take flight at any moment.

Alex leaned into the hug.

"I'm willing to deal with the consequences," John murmured into the other boy's hair.

 ** _time skip_**

They were snuggled up against each other, with a thick blanket covering the both of them, watching a movie on Alexander's laptop, almost asleep, when the door was suddenly flung open.

Alex bolted upright, his ruffled hair looking like feathers of a newborn baby bird.

"What- how-" He stared at the doorway. "How did you guys get into our dorm?" He questioned cautiously as John sat up next to him.

Lafayette laughed. "John gave us a key awhile ago, _mon amie_. "

Hercules leaned around Laf and let out a low wolf whistle. "Well, look at you two lovebirds," he smirked.

Alex turned bright red and John gave a small embarassed smile.

"We're a thing now," he said, and intertwined his fingers with Alex's, who, if possible, turned an even deeper shade red.

Laf wiggled his eyebrows at them and Alex involuntarily let out a laugh. John grinned.

"So now that it's official, you guys want to get pizza with us?" Hercules asked hopefully, glancing at Lafayette.

Alex looked between Lafayette and Hercules.

"Are you two, like, together or?..." He asked awkwardly, letting the question hang in the air.

"No worries, _mon amie_. Yes, we are together." Lafayette grabbed Hercules' hand and smiled up at him.

"Laf's pansexual and Hercules is gay," John explained, and Alex nodded.

"And the Schyulers are coming, so we can finally talk properly, without someone being drunk." Hercules gave John a meaningful look.

John laughed. "Ok, ok, yes, we will go." He looked back at Alex and Alex nodded happily.


	6. Chapter 6

"John, move your butt. I don't want to be late to my first history class."

Alexander was standing in the doorway while John scrambled around, looking for his stuff. Alex sighed and sipped his coffee. He had been up since 2 am, with nightmares plaguing his dreams. Caffeine was the only thing keeping him awake at the moment.

Finally, when John had gotten his crap together, they headed out. John threaded his fingers through Alex's and Alex smiled up at his boyfriend.

His boyfriend.

It had almost been one week, and it had been the best week of Alex's life.

Alex walked into the lecture hall and took a seat. He was excited; he had always had a passion for history. He had looked forward to the class for the past week, and even more so when he realized that his teacher was none other than Mr. Washinton, the kind man who had helped him on his first day.

To his left, a familiar guy with a bushy afro walked thorough the door. Alex locked eyes with the man and realized that he was the same guy that had called him a fag on his first day. Alexander narrowed his eyes.

"That's Thomas Jefferson."

"What?" Alex looked over at John, who was whispering out of the side of his mouth.

"Thomas Jefferson. He's basically the most popular guy on campus." John scowled. "He's a jerk."

"Oh," Alex said. He glanced at Jefferson again. The guy was wearing a loud magenta coat and his hair seemed to get bigger every second.

"And... He likes debate." John's eyes slid towards Alex. He knew how much Alexander liked a good argument.

Alex grinned. "This ought to be fun," he said happily.

"Ok, class, during this semester we will be studying the Founding Fathers and delving deeper into the American Revolution." Mr. Washington smiled at his students.

"We will also be having a few debates tossed in there as well. Speaking of which, we will be having one today to help break the ice."

Alexander was practically glowing. He loved debate. He glanced at John, who seemed to shrink in his seat.

"Hey, are you okay?" Alex murmured, putting his hand on John's.

John shuddered. "I hate speaking in front of people."

Alex frowned. He wanted to help his boyfriend, but just as he opened his mouth, he was cut off.

"Mr. Jefferson, you are up first for debate." Mr. Washington looked up from a peice of paper inhis hand. "Who would you like as your opposing team?"

Jefferson scanned the room. His eyes roamed over people until they stopped on Alex. A malicious grin spread over his face.

"I'll take the immigrant," he said, eyes glinting.

Alex went red. _Immigrant? What was this guy playing at?_

Mr. Washington pursed his lips, obviously not liking Jefferson's choice of words. "Mr...Hamilton, is it?"

Alex nodded.

"Please come to the front of the room."

John hid his face in his hands.

"Relax, it'll be fine," Alex muttered out of the side of his mouth, and stood up, walking down the aisle until he stood at the front of the room.

Mr. Washington gave Alex a small smile before turning back towards Jefferson.

"Your topic will be inspired by our current persident's views on immigration. Jefferson, you will be on the opposing team, while you, Hamilton, will be pro-immigration."

 ** _(Shit's about to go down like it's 1776, y'all_** )

If possible, Jefferson's grin grew. A viscious light glinted in his eyes.

Alex stared back at him, refusing to give in to Jefferson's look. He lifted his chin a little in defiance.

"Jefferson, you'll be starting off first. Go ahead." Mr. Washington stepped back.

"Immigrants... where do I start? They poison our society, making the country rotten from the inside out," Jefferson began, narrowing his eys at Alex before turning to address the rest of the class. "They slip into our borders, undetected, and take the jobs that our men have worked hard for. They don't have to fight for things, they get them handed to them out of pity. They are overrunning this country. No wonder California and other states are having water shortages, the immigrants that either work the fields or sit at home are taking too much. They are leeching out our resources, they take the already limited supplies of our country and waste it. We need stronger borders. We need to start more deportations. We need. Them. Out," he concluded, turning back to stare at Alex.

Alexander could practically feel the steam coming out of his ears. He stepped forward, and near the back of the room John let out a small groan.

"Immigrants-yes, where do I begin?" Alex questioned, and he, too, faced the rest of the room. "They are fleeing from their own goverments. From the natural disasters that devastate their countries. They have no money, no food. They need help, yet no one is offering it. So, yes, they are crossing the border. But without immigrants, where would we be? They do the jobs no one is willing to do. From working in the fields," his eyes flickered to Jefferson for a second, " to helping clean our streets and schools. They have nothing when they get here. So they start from scratch. They aren't like us; they work for their whole lives to get to where we are right now. When we are born, we get a house. We get money. They begin with nothing."

"No wonder you look the way you do."

"Excuse me?" Alex turned to Jeffferson.

"Your mother was a cheap whore who couldn't even buy you good shoes!" Jefferson spat, and he glared at Alex.

Alexander felt rage bubbling up inside him. Yes, his shoes were a bit tattered. Yes, his clothes weren't the best. But his mom had been a good woman. Not a whore.

"Turn around, bend over, and I'll show you where my shoe fits!" He snarled, and Jefferson lunged at him.

"Okay, OKAY! That's enough!" Mr. Washington flung himself between the two boys. "Jefferson, take a walk. Hamilton, take a walk!"

Jefferson glared at Alex, but reluctantly stormed back to his seat. Alex sat down in his own and John leaned over.

"Jeez, Alex, I think you made yourself an enemy you really don't want." He glanced nervously in Jefferson's direction.

Jefferson's eyes bored into him from across the room. Alex stared back at him.

"I don't care," he replied, "I can handle it."


	7. Chapter 7

**Update! So since I feel _really_ bad that I've been giving you guys short chapters and updating at random times, I've devised a system (yay for organization!) **

**From now on I'll be updating every Friday night. This way it gives me a week to get a nice, long chapter done just in time for the weekend for all of you! I will also be starting to be trigger warnings on my chapters, just in case.**

 ** _Trigger warning: Self-harm, talk of eating disorder, talk of past child abuse_**

Alex couldn't handle it.

He felt Jefferson's breath on the back of his neck as soon as he stepped outside at the end of his class.

"I'll meet you back at the dorm, okay? I just have to grab something first." John gave Alex a quizzical look before nodding and heading off.

"What's your problem?" Alex asked, whirling around to confront Jefferson. Jefferson sneered at him.

"I don't like little runty immigrants on my campus, homo," Jefferson smirked. He leaned against the brick wall of the building, his magenta coat a bright flouresent against the muted red.

"Don't call me that," Alex said, his voice tight.

"Why shouldn't I? It's what you are. I've seen you with your little boyfriend. You two are practically drooling over each other."

Alex rolled his eyes. "And why should you be concerned about my sexuality? From the look of your outfit, you have better things to worry about," he said, gesturing to the offending coat.

Quick as a flash, Jefferson's hand slammed into Alex's windpipe. He was thrown into the wall, his breath catching in his throat.

"Stay out of my way, you little bastard," Jefferson growled, and he let Alex drop to the ground before marching off.

Alex gasped and clutched at his throat, sucking air. He shakily got to his feet, anger boiling in his veins. Who did Jefferson think he was?

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out. It was a text from John: _Where are you?_

Alex was hit with a rush of guilt. Poor John had no idea what was going on.

 _I'm heading back right now_ , he texted back, and then put his phone back in his pocket.

"Where were you?" John questioned when Alex got back to their dorm. He slammed the door behind him and dropped his bag onto his bed, and went immediately to his desk. The words were buzzing in his head; he couldn't seem to think straight. It didn't help that he was fuming. Alex got this way sometimes, where he just couldn't concentrate, where the voices in his head wouldn't shut up.

"Alex?" John sounded worried.

"It's fine. Nothing to worry about. Just a spat with Jefferson."

John about nearly fell off his bed. "Are you okay? What happend?"

" _Nothing_. God, just leave me alone, will you?!" Alex exploded, whirling around to glare at John. His boyfriend shrank away, taken aback by his outburst.

Alex sighed and rubbed his face. "Look, John, I'm sorry, okay? But I really just don't want to talk about it."

"No, whatever," John muttered. He got up and grabbed his room key off the hook by door. "I'm going over to Laf's for awhile."

"Um, okay, do you want me-" the door slammed shut, "-to come with..." Alex trailed off. He sighed again. "Great job Alex, you fucked another thing up."

John didn't come home that night.

So when Alexander woke up screaming, he was alone with the ghosts of his past.

He got out of bed and began to pace. He clenched his hands unilt there was half-moon marks in his palms from his fingernails, until he was sure there was a track walked into the wooden floor of the dorm.

Alex couldn't seem to calm down. His breathing was fast, his heart pounded in his chest, his head was whirling.

He found himself in the bathroom.

He had promised himself he would never be in this position again.

 _Promises are made to be broken._

He dug around in his stuff until he found what he needed.

Alex sat on the lip of the bathtub and turned the razor over in his hand. It glinted in the light of the bulb above the sink; a new razor he had brought with him just in case of a situation like this one.

When Alex had been bumped form foster home to foster home, it had just made his anxiety and panic attacks worse. The flashbacks came at random times, it felt like there was nothing he could do to control his life.

But he could control what happened to his body.

Pushing up his sleeves, Alex forced himself looking at the thick web of scars on his arms. There was two that really stood out: two thick, jagged red lines, each the length of his forearm, one for each arm.

They had been put there when he was 15, when his life was the most hectic. He was still adjusting to living in the States, the flashbacks were around every corner, and he could barely take a shower without having a panic attack.

Alex had been sick of everything. He was tired of living without his mom, he was tired of being uprooted from a home just about every week; he was tired of life in general.

So when his foster mom walked in on him laying in a pool of blood on his bed, the white sheets turning pink under his wrists, she had screamed and called 911. The last thing Alex remembered was the face of a disapointed paramedic staring down at him while they loaded him into the ambulance.

He had been released from the hospital the next week and put back into the foster system.

Two years later here he was. And there was a reason he always wore a sweater or long sleeved shirt.

He shook himself out of his thoughts. There was no need to dwell on the past. Nothing could change it.

He pressed the edge of the razor down on his wrist, and in one quick motion dragged it across. Blood welled up immediately, crimson against his pale skin. Alex let out a sigh of relief. Already he could feel himself relaxing, his brain focusing and clicking back into where it needed to be.

One more cut.

And another.

And another.

When they stopped bleeding, he tugged his sleeves down. He'd have to hide this from John-if John even wanted to talk to him anymore.

Alex exited the bathroom and climbed back into bed. He stared at the ceiling and thought the thoughts he promised himself he would never think again.

 _Promises are made to be broken._

He didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

* * *

John walked in the next morning, carrying two coffees. Alex was sitting at his desk, looking extremely disheveled, the sleeves of his sweatshirt pulled over his wrists.

"Alex-I want to apologize. I shouldn't have left like that, I'm sorry."

Alex turned towards him and shook his head. "No, John, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you. There was just- just a lot of stuff in my head. And it was hard to concentrate on one thing at a time."

John held one of the coffees. "Truce?"

Alex gave a small smile and got up. "Truce," he agreed, and he hugged his boyfriend before taking the coffee.

John sat on his bed and sipped his drink, watching Alex work. He knew they were still not exactly out of the woods of their fight yet, and that it was delicate ground that he needed to tread lightly on. But still... he was curious.

"Can I read some of your work sometime?"

Alex gave a small frown and gently closed his laptop. "Sorry, John, but... it's kind of private."

Alex wrote everything down. And when he said everything, he meant _everything._ There was some seriously dark stuff in his computer files, especially from after he had gotten out of the hospital.

His foster mom had made him see a therapist- at least, until he had to move to another house.

But while he had seen a shrink, she had suggested that he get something to write on. Whether it be a journal or a computer, just somewhere where he could put the thoughts running rampant in his head down.

So after his appointment, Alex had gone to the pawn shop downtown and gotten his laptop for a very cheap $100. Sure, it had a few dings and scratches, but it wasn't like he needed something fancy. Just a place to get the thoughts out of his head and onto paper. And he would need one for college and school anyways, he reasoned.

That laptop was a lifesaver. Literally.

There would be days where Alex would write all night to distract himself, where he needed to be lost for a while so he wouldn't hurt anyone-especially himself.

And so his foster parents would get used to the muted blue glow that seeped out from under his door after he was supposed to be alseep. They learned to make sure that he was up for school and not alseep, with his glasses on the floor and the imprints from the keyboard on his face after passing out at his desk.

Alex shook himself from his thoughts. John was staring at the ceiling, looking bored out of his mind. They only had a few days left before classes started; a few days of precious freedom.

"What do you want to do?" Alex asked. John shrugged. Now that Alex thought about it, he didn't look bored. He looked depressed, and not just because of their fight. Alex suspected something else was wrong.

He got out of his chair and laid on John's bed. "Tell me what's going on."

John put his coffee on his nightstand and laid next to him. He sighed.

"Today-it's just...kind of hard."

Alex rolled over so that he could see John's face. "Would you like to tell me why?" He asked gently.

"Today's the anniversary of my brother's death."

"Oh God, John, I'm sorry." Alex wrapped his arms around his boyfriend. "What happened?"

"He was really young. He was playing outside-I thought he was fine. And then he started screaming. He fell out of the tree we had in our yard and fractured his skull." A tear rolled down John's face and landed on Alex's shoulder. "It was my fault. I was supposed to be watching him."

"No, John. It wasn't your fault. It was an accident!" Alex squeezed him tighter. "It was just an accident," he repeated.

"My dad blames me. He hates me already for being... y'know, for being gay. This is just another reason for him to do what he does."

Alex froze.

"John-what does he do?"

John slowly untangled himself from Alex's arms and sat up. "Forget I said anything.

Alex grabbed John's wrist. "You need to tell me if I need to be worried or not."

John gently extracted himself once again from Alex, and moved away from him. "Alex, it's fine," he said. "You don't have to worry."

But there was a feeling in Alex's gut that something in this picture was really not right. That he actually did need to be worried. And before he could stop himself, he opened his mouth.

"I'll trade my secret for yours."

He immediately regretted that those words ever left his mouth.

But John turned around and looked at him. "You would do that?"

Alex nodded. "I need to know that you're okay."

John sat on Alex's bed so that they were facing each other. "Okay," he said warily. "Then you can go first."

Alex turned to face the wall.

"What-"

"If I look at you, I won't be able to do this," Alexander explained. He took a deep breath.

"When I was being moved from home to home, there was a lot of stuff happening. There was one...incident... that I'm going to tell you later because I don't want to scare you off right away," he halfheartedly joked.

"It felt like there was no control in my life. So I starting controlling the only thing that I could-my body. It started out with just a skipped lunch. I was in a hurry to one of my classes one day; I had to turn something in. So I just...skipped. And it felt good. So I did it the next day. I felt like I had a little bit of control. That if I didn't eat lunch, I controlled what was happening to me, even if it was only a little bit. And then I thought, if I don't need lunch... then I don't need dinner either." Alex heard John suck in a breath and forged on before he could say anything.

"It was great, because I was finally deciding what was happening to me. And I felt powerful, because all of these other people complained that they had no control with their lives, that they didn't get to make the decisions. And here I was, finally getting all the control I had been craving." Alex closed his eyes.

"I passed out in the middle of English class. That was when people started worrying. The doctors said that I was grossly underweight for someone my age, that I needed to start eating again. But it was really hard. It's still hard. That's why I don't eat a lot," he added, turning back to face John. "Because when I feel like there's too much chaos in my life, I start falling back into old habits. And college is pretty chaotic."

John got off of his bed and closed the space between them. He took Alex's hand in his and traced the nails, then kissed his palm. "I'm so sorry," he said, and he hugged Alex.

Alex allowed himself to lean into John for a second, then he gently pushed the other boy off of himself.

"Okay. My sob story is over" - _for the most part_ -"it's time to hear your stuff."

John sighed and looked down at his hands. "My dad- he doesn't agree with my 'lifestyle'," he began, making quote marks with his fingers, "he thinks I shouldn't be allowed to like guys. So, when he found out that I was gay in my sophomore year. . . he wasn't happy. Not at all.

"It was little things at first. He would shove me in the hallway just slightly when he was walking past, or he'd grab my arm a little too hard when he was mad. Then when I was a junior, he started hitting me. Just small stuff, like slaps, and then bigger things. He would shove me up against the wall with his hands around my neck. It escalated really quickly after that." John's voice broke and Alex slipped his hand back into John's.

"He can't hurt you here."

John smiled a little and put his head on the younger boy's shoulder.

They stayed like that for a while, two messed up teenagers leaning against each other, counting on the other for silent support.

It felt good to have someone care. To have someone listen.

It felt like love.


	8. Chapter 8

Alex woke up that night screaming again. He immediately clapped a hand to his mouth and closed his eyes, praying.

 _Please let John not hear, please let John not hear, pleasepleaseplease-_

"Alex?"

 _Fuck._

"I'm fine," Alex whispered, "it was just a bad dream." _You sound like a 4 year old._

"M'kay," John murmered groggily, and rolled over. He started snoring softly again in a few minutes.

Alex breathed a sigh of relief and looked over at his alarm clock. It read 1:30 AM. He could still try to sleep for a little bit.

 _Alex opened his eyes. The gray morning light filtered through the stillness. It was quiet. Really quiet. He sat up and looked around. There was nobody in sight._

 _Alexander got up and started walking. The ground was littered with objects, fragments of people's loves scattered everywhere. Branches and leaves were among the belongings; the hurricane had not been gentle._

 _His foot came down on something...soft. Alex glanced down-_

 _A scream ripped from his throat._

 _Staring back at him was the blank eyes of a young girl. Her lips were blue; her skin, gray and purple._

 _Isabel. He knew her._

 _They had been friends at the orphanage. Alex had given her the nickname Izzie and helped her with her schoolwork, they had sat together at mealtimes._

 _And now she was dead._

 _Alex stared back at her body, her neck at an unnatural angle. Her eyes gazed past him. Those eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life._

This time when Alex woke up, he felt bile rising in his throat. He threw back the covers and rushed to the bathroom, gagging.

He pushed up the toilet seat, held his hair back and threw up, his eyes watering. When he was finished he rested his forehead on the lip of the toilet, the porcelain cool against his skin.

He curled up on the bath mat, fighting waves of nausea. Isabel's eyes seem to be seared into his retinas, and Alex winced. Guilt rushed over him; he shouldn't have been the one to survive. He deserved to be dead.

He was weak.

 _What kind of eighteen year old do you think you are, Alex? You still have nightmares like a toddler._

He stood shakily and dug around in the cabinet, trying to make as little noise as possible. He didn't want John to walk in on him.

He found the bottle of sleeping pills and slowly turned them over in his hand; he had been trying to slowly wean himself off of them, but that obviously wasn't working.

He shook two pills out into his palm.

 _What if you didn't stop? What if you just kept going until the whole bottle was gone?_

 _The world would be better off without you._

Alex dropped the bottle as though he had been burned.

He wasn't supposed to still be thinking like that.

And yet...Alex was comfortable thinking that way. It was what he was used to, as sad as that sounded.

He slowly picked up the pill bottle and put it back, then turned off the light and walked back to his bed. John was still sleeping, snoring softly under the pile of blankets he was cocooned in.

Alex sighed quietly; if only he could be normal for once. He hated what he had become, yet it was the only way he knew how to be.

He rolled over, wrapping the blankets around himself, and closed his eyes.

He still didn't sleep.

* * *

The next morning when they walked into history class, Jefferson wasn't there yet. Alex breathed a small sigh of relief, hopefully he and John had picked seats far enough away from the homophobic bigot so that there wouldn't be anything instigated.

He sat down and started organizing his papers; he already had started an essay for Mr. Washington based on the syllabus information of thier first essay assignment. John sucked in a breath next to him and Alex immediately knew what that meant before he looked up.

Jefferson's coat was reminiscent to that of a brightly colored frog from the rainforest; a warning of something incredibly dangerous and lethal. No wonder the magenta code on oil rigs symbolized the highest level of danger, Alex mused.

The two boys locked eyes across the room and glared at each other for a moment before looking away to prepare for the class that was about to start.

The lecture seemed to go by in a flash, with Alex enraptured the whole time, and before he knew it, he was packing up his stuff. "Let's get out of here," John whispered, and Alex followed his gaze to where Jefferson was making his way through the crowd of students, his eyes locked on the two boys like a target.

Alex started shoving his books more forcefully back into his bag; he was tired and just wanted to go back to his dorm and take a nap, not argue with some jerk.

"You're not getting away that easily, Hamilton."

Alex swore under his breath and turned around.

"Just leave us alone, Jefferson." He glared at the taller student, then turned back around to zip up his bag. A hand clapped onto his shoulder and he whirled around. "Don't touch me," he snarled, and whacked the hand away. Jefferson sneered. "I was wondering, Hamilton, how did you even get into this country? Crossing borders illegally, I supposed?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "I was wondering, Jefferson, are you clinically insane, or just incredibly annoying?" A few people still leaving snickered as they walked past, and Jefferson went red.

"You're going to regret you ever talked to me," he growled, then turned and stalked away.

John looked like he was about to die from shock. "What did you do to make him that mad?" He exclaimed. Alex shrugged. "I think by breathing," he muttered, then grabbed his bag. "Let's just get out of here."

X

Back at the dorm, Alex threw his bag onto his desk chair, then flopped onto the bed. "Ugh," he groaned, and pulled a pillow over his head.

"I'm going out with Herc and Laf, you want to come?" John raised his eyebrows. Alex shook his head under the pillow. "I'm going to stay here, I'm tired," he said, his voice muffled, then rolled over.

John sighed. "If you need anything, jsut text me, okay?" Alex gave a thumbs up. "Will do."

A few minutes later he heard the door shut. Alex sat up. He has so much to do, and he loved John, really he did, but still. The guy was about as quiet as a herd of elephants.

He pulled out his laptop and started writing, something on the symbolism of To Kill A Mockingbird. The words felt like they always did, perfect and flowing, and Alex was reluctant to stop when he realized that he still needed to eat lunch.

He could skip, but...He knew where that would lead. It was a slippery slope, and Alex knew that he would eventually end up passed out somewhere, underweight again, his brain unable to function because the only thing he thought about was food.

Setting his computer down, he cast one more longing look at it before heading out to the coffee shop. He could grab a sandwhich and a latte there before heading back and finishing his essay.

When Alex got to the coffee shop, he was already anxious. He hated crowds, and there was still some people left over from the lunch rush. He dug his nails into his palms before ordering, creating the familiar half moons.

Done with ordering, he pulled out his phone and started playing with it, scrolling through Twitter and rolling his eyes at Trump's latest rage filled comments. Seroiusly, didn't the guy have some sort of PR team to control his social media outbreaks?

Alex heard his named being called and headed up to grab his sandwhich and coffee, accidently bumping into someone as he went to get his order.

"Sorry, I didn't-" Alex stopped short when he saw who he had run into.

Jefferson grinned down at him, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Alexander," he crowed, and Alex involuntarily flinched. "What are you doing here?"

"Getting my food, obviously." Alex's voice was cold as he watched Jefferson, trying to figure out what he was planning. Jefferson continued to smile at him.

"Coffee with that as well," he asked, and Alex nodded, still suspicious. "Let me help with that," Jefferson said, and he looked over Alex's head. His smile grew even bigger.

That was when he realized that something was incredibly wrong.

Alex suddenly felt something cold and wet being poured over his head, instantly drenching his hair and clothes. Jefferson howled with laughter as Alex stood there, his mouth stuck open in shock, frozen in an ever-growing puddle of iced coffee that was dripping down his body.

"What? No snappy comments?" Jefferson asked, feigning surprise. "I thought you were smart. Guess not." He raised his eyebrows, then turned and walked out of the shop.

People were now staring at Alex, who was still frozen in shock and embarrassment. He slowly began to realize something: this was in public. This was in front of real, live people.

Alex grabbed his phone off of the table and fled, once again leaving his coffee and shoving students out of the way. He sprinted across the lawn, slowing only when he neared the dorms. It felt like the walk of shame as he trudged back to his room after leaving a puddle of coffee in the elevator up to the third floor. He grumpily shoved his key into the lock and pushed open the door to reveal a laughing John, Lafayette, and Hercules all sitting on the floor. They froze as they looked up at Alex.

"What happened to you?" John was the one to break the silence. "Jefferson," Alex muttered, then slammed the door and made his way to the bathroom, pulling off his jacket and throwing it into the hamper. He closed the door and turned on the shower.

When he had finally succeeded in washing the coffee out of his hair, Alex shut off the water and changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, ignoring the way his healing cuts tugged when he reached his arms up.

Alex stepped back into main room and sat on the floor, putting his head on John's shoulder.

"Alex, what happened?" John repeated. "Jefferson threw coffee on me," Alex said, and his friends stared at him.

John sighed and shook his head. "I warned you, didn't I?" Alex shrugged. "It could have been worse," he yawned.

"Are you still tired-" John broke off with a small smile as he realized the other boy had fallen asleep against him.

X

"Did you get the note I left you?"

"Yes, Alex, I got it. How could I have not gotten it, you stuck it to my forehead!"

"Well sorry, I didn't want you to freak out like you always do," Alex sighed into his phone. He had just gone to college store to get a few new notebooks for class, and since John tended to worry whenever he went missing, so when he went out Alex had resorted to sticking a Post-It somewhere on John's face if he didn't wake up.

"Well, I'll be back soon, then we can go out for breakfast, okay?"

John agreed and Alex hung up. He walked to the college shop, pulling his jacket tighter around him to ward off the slight chill in the air. The jacket still smelled faintly of coffee, and whenever it got washed, the clothes it had been washed with smelled like coffee too. John liked to joke that Alex smelled like his own cafe.

He bought two new notebooks, and then trudged back through the crunching leaves. It was now late September, almost October, and the leaves in New York were all sorts of colors, ranging from a rich amber to deep red.

As soon as Alex walked into their dorm and sat down, Jonhn crawled into his lap. "Hi, I need affection."

Alex laughed. "What happened?"

"Laf said that dogs were better than turtles." John frowned. "He disparaged Charlemange."

Alex rested his chin on top of John's head and sighed. "I mean, to be honest, Laf's got a point. You can't really cuddle with a turtle."

"I will fight you."

"Okay, get off," Alex announced. "I have work to do."

John curled up into a tighter ball. "You can multitask."

"The only time I'm not multitasking is when I'm sleeping."

"You don't sleep."

"Exactly."

John squinted decisevely. "If you give me that coffee flavored chocolate that you've been hiding I'll get off."

"How did you know that was there?!" ALex's mouth dropped open.

John shrugged. "You're not as good at hiding things as you think you are."

Alex self-conciously pulled his sleeves farther down his wrists. _Oh, John. If you only knew._

X

"We're going out," John announced later that day. Alex looked up from his laptop. He had been writing a scathing essay criticizing President Trump for his views on LBGTQ+ and was almost finished, 18,000 words and all.

"Out where?"

John shrugged. "We need something to do. It's the end of the week, we're done with class until Monday."

Alex frowned, "John, I don't really think that's a good idea. I have so much to do, and you need to get your law class essay done. It'll be due soon."

John snorted. "Alex, that essay isn't due for two months. Only you would think of getting started on it this early. Besides," John sprawled onto Alex's lap, knocking his computer out of the way; Alex caught it right before it hit the ground, "you need to let loose a little."

Alexander rolled his eyes and bit his lip, mentally debating. One night couldn't hurt-right?

"Fine."

"YES!" John leapt off of Alex, flung open thier door, and bounded into Laf and Herc's room. "You guys, he agreed!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Holy shit you guys, this is a heavy chapter. I tried to make it longer and wow. Angst. It's loaded.**

 **Thank you so much for so many reviews! I'm over the moon to know that people are enjoying my story.**

 **I had like no time to edit this, so sorry for any mistakes.**

They were at some bar-somewhere. Alex didn't know, he just knew that he was probably drunk and that he didn't care.

John was happy sitting next to him, happily humming some random song and sipping on some type of drink.

"Let's go somewhere," Laf suggested from Alex's other side, and Alex sighed. "Laf, we already are somewhere."

"No, I mean go to somewhere that isn't a bar."

Alex shrugged. He had nothing to lose. "Okay."

Hercules stood up. "Okay, losers, get in the car. I'm the designated driver." He motioned to the door. "Okay, _dad_ ," John muttered, and stumbled out. Alex rolled his eyes and followed him. John wasn't hammered, but he definitely didn't know if he was able to make good decisions or not.

They went to the trails in the park down the street. The moon was shining bright above them, glinting off of the river that ran next to the path. John was holding Alex's hand and they were leaning against each other, while Laf and Herc were arguing up ahead. Laf was talking about something from France, occasionally switching over to French and back, while Herc was desperately trying to follow along to no avail.

"Hey, look up there." John pointed up at the bridge up ahead that stretched across a sizable waterfall. "This is my favorite part of the trail. It's always so peaceful." He smiled at Alex.

The group stopped in the middle of the bridge and watched the black water tumble onto the rocks at the bottom, the spray lightly misting their faces.

Lafayette lightly punched Hercules' arm. "I dare you to stand over the railing," he smirked, and Alex glanced up. "I will," he said, and John looked at him with a startled expression. "What?" Alex asked. "It'll be fine." He swung one leg over the railing, then the other, and stood there looking at the drop. The water shone with moonlight, relfecting back his image. The rocks at the bottom were covered in mist. It looked like something out of a travel magazine.

Alex hadn't seen that many waterfalls at this height.

A fall from this high up would probably kill someone.

Huh.

He took one hand off of the railing.

"Alex-" John's voice was full of warning. Alex stared at the water.

 _Just let go_. The voice in his head was back.

"Alex, you can come back over now." He could barely hear John over the noise filtering through his ears.

Alex took his other hand off of the railing.

He stood there and closed his eyes. His foot moved forward a few inches until it was halfway off of the ledge.

 _No more pain. No more panic attacks. No more sleepless nights._

He leaned forward.

Hands grabbed at his arms and hauled him back over the railing. He sprawled on the ground, cement scraping his palms.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" John was screaming at him. Lafayette and Hercules were staring at him, worry etched across their faces.

Alex slowly got to his feet and stared at the ground, keeping quiet. The only sound was the water crashing into the rocks.

 _You should be down there right now._

He flinched at the thought.

"We're going home."John's voice was sharp enough to slice throught the air and leave invisible marks on Alex's heart.

They filed back to Hercules' car. Everyone was deadly silent on the way home and he refused to look anyone in the eyes, even when Herc and Laf said goodnight and went into their room.

Alex climbed onto his bed and burrowed into the blankets. He didn't want to talk to anyone, especially not John.

Evidentely the Fates did not agree with his decisions.

"You're not getting out of this that easily," John growled, and yanked the blankets back. Alex rolled away from him.

"Just leave me alone," he whispered.

"I don't think that I should!" John exclaimed. "Not if you're going to pull a stunt like that again!"

Alex shut his eyes. He just wanted to go to sleep and forget this whole thing ever happened.

"What were you thinking!" John was yelling at him now. "Do you even know what you were doing?!" Alex felt a surge of anger and shot up. "Yeah, actually, I did!" He screamed, and John froze. "Please don't tell me you mean that," he whispered, and Alex stared at the ground.

"Alex..."

He still didn't say anything.

"Alexander, please just talk to me." Alex shook his head.

"Yeah, right, just be quiet and ignore this, like you always do," John muttered, and he turned away.

"What do I alway ignore, John?" Alex asked, glaring at the other boy's back.

"Help, Alex, you need help, but you won't let anyone do anything."

"Because I don't need help!" Alex exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

"Oh, right, because you think that I don't notice that you never sleep or that you try to hide panic attacks from me or that you still eat so little food that you rival a plant!" John scoffed.

"Why are you yelling at me?"

"BECAUSE I WANT TO HELP YOU!" John screamed. "YOU NEVER LET ANYONE HELP YOU, ALEX!"

"MAYBE BECAUSE THE LAST TIME I ASKED FOR HELP NO ONE GAVE IT!" Alex screamed back. "WHY ELSE DO YOU THINK I-" he cut himself off and squeezed his eyes shut.

"What happened last time, Alex?" John asked softly. Alex just shook his head again.

He couldn't relive that night.

Not again.

"Alex, please, I'm right here, please. Just-just let me in. Let me help you." John's voice broke and he looked away.

"You don't want to know." Alex's voice was shaky. "You'll hate me."

John shook his head, "Alex, I could never hate you. I love you. So much." His eyes were pleading.

Alex took a breath.

 _Do you really want to do this?_

 _You're fat._

 _You're so, so stupid._

 _No one wants a freak with scars._

 _You're just a weak coward._

He shut out the voices in his brain and slowly pulled off his sweatshirt to reveal the short sleeved T-shirt that he had on underneath.

John's expression was quizzical as he scanned Alex's body, then his eyes went wide.

 _Really_ wide.

He took a step forward, then another, until they were inches apart. Alex stared at the ground, refusing to look at John's face.

He felt a hand gently take his wrist, then slowly turn it over. John sucked in a breath.

Alex turned his face away.

This was why he didn't show people. Because then they would either think you were a freak, or they pitied you. And Alexander hated the attention.

"Alex..." John's voice broke the silence, shattering it like glass. "Why would you do this?"

Alex forced himself to look at John. His eyes glittered with tears, and Alex looked away again.

"I needed it to stop. And nothing-no one-was helping me. Not even when I asked for it."

John pulled him into a hug.

"Some of these are new," he whispered, and Alex sighed. "I know."

"Why?..."

"Because I don't deserve you, John. I don't deserve this, I deserve to be dead like every other person that was killed in that hurricane. I'm weak."

"Alexander, you are not weak. You're like the strongest person I know."

"Yeah, the strongest person who was about to step off a bridge. The strongest person who had a panic attack because of a nightmare that I shouldn't even be having at this point."

John let out a long sigh, obviously not wanting to argue about this.

"What would this be?"

It took Alex a second for the realization of what John was asking to click.

"Second attempt."

"Why?"

Alex groaned, "John, I already told you why-"

"No, Alex, stop giving me bullshit about being weak, tell me the truth."

Alex hung his head. "I don't belong here," he muttered, "and sometimes I think the world would be a better place without me around to mess it up."

John was silent for a bit. "You and I both know that's not true," he said finally. "Because then there wouldn't be anyone around for Jefferson to throw coffee on." They both let out a weak laugh.

"But seriously, Alex. You can do this. We'll get you on antidepressants-"

"Already on them-"

"We'll get you on stronger antidepressants, then. And you have to promise me that you will ask for help when you need it." John stared at Alex, who blinked back, then sighed.

"Fine. Yes, I promise."

"Thank you."

"And this-" John traced one of the smaller scars- "you can't do this again either. Okay?"

Alex just nodded. He was so, so tired. Emotional stuff takes a toll on your body, even if you don't realize it.

John hugged him again, and Alex wrapped his arms around his boyfriend.

 _I'm so lucky to have him._

 _Even though I don't deserve him._

When they broke apart, Alex bit his lip, thinking. "What are we going to tell Laf and Herc?"

John ran his hands through his hair and sighed. "Honestly? No idea. But we'll figure something out."

"Well, I'm going to bed," Alex said after a bit of silence, and grabbed his pajamas to change. He watched out of the corner of his eye as John stared at the angry red scar tracing it's way up his forearm, and he stood back up quickly and pulled his arm back around behind him, hiding the other with his clothes. It still felt awkward when he told people-or when they figured it out.

When he came back into the room, John was cruled up in bed, laying under a pile of blankets.

"Why do you have so many blankets by the way?" Alex asked, slightly amused. John snorted. "I'm from South Carolina. It's freezing here."

"Dude. I'm from the Caribbean. You can't get much warmer than that."

John just shook his head. "Whatever, Mr. Jack Sparrow."

"What did you just call me?" Alex exclaimed, laughing. John grinned at him, "You heard me."

"Okay, well I'm going to pretend that I didn't, and I'm going to sleep.

John snuggled farther down into his covers. "Night, Alex."

Alex smiled. "Goodnight," he said, and switched off the light.

X

To be honest, John didn't sleep that much that night. He lay in bed, listening to Alex's soft breaths, staring at the ceiling.

He was absolutely terrified.

How long had Alex been doing this to himself? From the look of all the fading scars on his arm, it had been a while.

John rolled over. He couldn't seem to sleep. His brain was on hyperdrive, thinking over everything that Alexander had done before.

Warning signs.

Well, he never slept. And he didn't eat that much. And now that John thought about it, all the little things started to click together, making a picture tht he didn't really want to see the outcome of.

Alex had never changed in front of him.

He never talked about his life before college.

He always wore long sleeved shirts.

He disappeared into the bathroom for long periods of time.

John thought back to when they had had their fight. Alex had worn a sweatshirt the next day with longer sleeves, and kept pulling them back down. John had thought that it was a nervous tic.

Evidentely not.

It all added up to something:

How long had Alex been hiding this?

And when was he going to stop?

X

Alex woke up the next day to someone jumping on his bed.

"What the-" he mumbled, and sat up, then fell back.

A grinning Peggy was bouncing on his ankles, apparently waiting for him to wake up.

"Morning!" She said cheerfully, and Alex stared at her. "How did you get in here?"

"Key," Peggy chirped, and Alex turned to look at John, who was sitting on his own bed. "Does everyone have a key to our dorm?" He asked, and John shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

"Um, yeah, we're here too," a voice said, and Alex jumped so hard that Peggy almost went flying off of his legs.

He turned to find Angelica and Eliza waving at him from the desk chairs. "We brought muffins," Eliza said, and held out a brown bag. Angelica smiled at him.

Alex suddenly became hyperaware of the fact that he had no sleeves on. He tugged a blanket around his shoulders and slid deeper underneath his comforter. He sent a glance to John, who stared at him blankly for a second until Alex flexed his wrists. John's face lit up with an _oh_ expression, and he stood up. "Okay, everybody out," he said, and the girls groaned. "Why?" Peggy pouted, and John fumbled for an answer. "Because Alex needs to change!"

Angelica raised her eyebrows, "There's a bathroom," she said, and Alex glared at John. John stared back at him with a panicked expression.

"Um-" John muttered, and Alex blurted the first thing that popped into his head.

"I'm naked!"

Peggy shot up as though she had been burned. "Kay, I'm out!" She yelped, and flung open the door, her sisters at her heels. "Same!" Angelica exclaimed, racing out, and Eliza slammed the door after her.

John slapped a hand over his mouth, trying to silent his laughter, while Alex face palmed, groaning. "Out of all of the excuses I have, that's the one I use," he complained, and John started laughing again. "Hey, at least now you can change," he said, and Alex pretended to glare at him. "Why are they even here?" he asked, and John shrugged. "Angelica wants to go shopping? I don't know. She said something about a bookstore she thinks you'll like."

Alex jumped up. "If books are on the agenda, then I'm going," he said, and snatched up his stuff.

X

One hour later Alex had a stack of books taller than his head and was manuvering his way around Barnes and Noble, trying not to fall over from the towering novels.

John started laughing when he saw his boyfriend, staggering around like a drunken elk, and immediately started grabbing books off of the pile so that Alex could see.

"Find anything interesting?" He asked, grinning, and Alex's eyes lit up.

"They have so much on History! And Law! And, look!" Alex held up a thick, creamy white book that seemed to be at least 600 pages thick. "They even have something on Lin-Manuel Miranda!"

John squinted. "Wasn't that dude, like, part of the Revolution or something?"

Alex rolled his eyes, "Yes, John,'that dude' was part of the Revolution." His face fell suddenly and he slowly set his books down. John frowned. "What's wrong?"

Alex sighed. "I don't have a way to pay for this," he said, and picked up the pile again, almost tipping over in the process. "I guess I'll have to put them back." Alex looked longingly at the Miranda book before retracing his steps.

John started grabbing books back as Alex walked up and down the aisles replacing them, putting them back into a neat stack until Alex turned around. "John," he said, "what are you doing?"

John gently set the books down, then stood back up. "Look, before you put all of your precious babies back, I have a gift for you. And you can't refuse it!" He said quickly as Alex opened his mouth. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, extracting a credit card. "Look, my dad wants me to be a lawyer, right? Well, he gave me this card at the beginning of the year for school stuff, and since he's like incredibly rich," John rolled his eyes, "If he sees all of these books on history and law and whatever, he'll be happy that I'm buying them. So, really, you're doing me a favor if I get them."

Alex had started shaking his head in the middle of John's spiel. "No way," he said," I can't do that! This has to be like 200 dollars of books! And besides, that's lying to your dad!"

John scoffed. "So what? He's an asshole. Might as well take advantage of getting this while he still gives me money. I mean, we all know he's writing me out of his will! Why not use this to our benefit while we still can?"

Alex was obiviously debating with himself, but evidentely the book lover part of him won. "Fine," he grumbled, and starting carting his books up to the cash register. "I hate you for this!" He shouted over his shoulder, and John smiled. "Love you too, honey!" He called, and Alex flipped him off.

"Ah, yes, young love," snorted Peggy as she came up behind John, and he gave her a small shove as she walked by. "Oh, shut up, you haven't even been in a serious relationship yet," he said, and she stuck her tongue out at him. "Maria and I are getting along perfectly, thank you!"

X

When they got back to the dorms, Alex immediately dove into his book pile. He was in ankle deep when there was a knock at the door. John stood up, "I'll get it." When he pulled open the door, he saw Hercules standing there uncomfortably. "Whats wrong?" John instantly asked, and Hercules shrugged. "Can I talk to you"-he glanced at Alex-"outside?"

John and Herc seemed to be having a conversation through telepathy, because a moment later John looked at Alex. "I'll be right back," he said, and stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Alex jumped up as soon as the door shut and pressed his ear too the wood, straining to hear anything.

"Won't eat..."

"We talked last night, its fine-"

"Laf won't stop worrying, John, he's pulling out his hair again..."

The knob started to turn and Alex threw himself back onto the floor, straining to make everything look normal.

"Hey Alex, would you mind coming over here for a minute?" Alex looked up and pretended to be surprised. "Okay."

He followed Hercules back into his dorm, to where Laf and John were sitting on a bed. Laf was sitting cros-legged looking uncomfortable, absentmindedly tugging on the stray hairs that fell out of his messy ponytail, and John gently pulled his hand away. As soon as Lafayette saw Alex he started speaking in French so rapidly that Alex had to think for a few seconds before replying. They spoke quickly with each other, while John and Hercules tried to follow along but failed.

Hercules poked Alex in the arm. "What's he saying?" Alex shrugged Herc off and went back to speaking with Laf before saying anything.

"Lafayette is worried about me," he muttered, and sat down at the desk chair. Laf started saying something again in French before Alex snapped back at him, shutting Laf up. The Frenchman frowned and watched Alex suspiciously.

"Alex, whats happening?" John asked, glancing between the two boys. Alex let out a sigh that seemed to go on forever before replying. "Laf is extremely worried about me, even though I'm fine," he repeated, shooting a meaningful look at Lafayette, who rolled his eyes, "and I told him that he needs to stop fretting about everything and stop pulling his hair out." Laf snatched his hand away from his head.

Hercules frowned. "I think we're all worried after what happened yesterday..." He trailed off, glancing at Alex. Laf shot Alex a triumphant look.

John looked at Alex. "I think it's time to tell them," he prompted, and Alex just nodded in defeat. "Fine," he muttered.

At least he could make this short and sweet. Hopefully.

"When I was 13, I got shipped to the States after a hurricane destroyed my town in the Caribbean. I was the only person that survived the storm, and when I got here the government didn't know what to do with me, so they put me in foster care. I started self harming when I was 14, and developed an eating disorder a little while after that. When I was 15 I attempted suicide and got put in the hospital for a week. I've been diagnosed with borderline severe depression and an anxiety disorder, and I get frequent panic attacks." He finished and took a deep breath, avoiding looking at everyone.

"This has now been sufficiently awkward and I would prefer that you would not treat me any different," Alex added, and he glanced at John, who gave him an incouraging smile.

Hercules cleared his throat. "Alex, trust me, we won't treat you any different. We all have stuff wrong with us," he said, gesturing to Laf, John, and himself. "I have a hard time dealing with my OCD sometimes, and Laf has GAD (generalized anxiety order) and he deals with it by trying to pluck himself bald," Hercules once again smacked Lafayette's hand away from his hair; Laf sat on his hands and smiled sheepishly. "So trust me, you''re not the only one thats screwed up," Herc continued, raising his eyebrows.

"Thanks, guys," Alex muttered. He felt better, but at the same time he knew that they probably would treat him a little gentler, like he was a unstable bomb that could go off at any moment. It had happened with every friend group he had had, and eventually Alex had just given up on trying to make friends when he moved because he was sick of being pitied time and time again.

"I'm kind of tired, I think I'm gonna go take a nap," Alex announced. He wanted to leave as soon as possible.

"Okay, I'll be back in a little while," John said, and Alex nodded. He waved goodbye to Laf and Hercules, and went back to his room.

As soon as Alex shut the door, he felt okay again. He just wanted to be alone for a while. He crawled into bed and pulled the blankets over his head, welcoming the darkness.

At least for now he was keeping his head above water.

The only problem was, Alexander didn't know how long he could keep that up.

 **Okay. So I know a few of you would like more updates. I understand, I really do, but...**

 **I'm already so busy. I have a life outside of this community, and I know that's hard to believe, because I'm just some nameless face behind the screen, but it's true. If I just write, and update every few days, the story will deteriorate in quality extremely fast. I don't want to just ramble on and on. It won't be the same. The updates will also be shorter, and we all don't want that.**

 **Also, if I just stay shut up in my room and write 24/7, you'll just get fewer updates because my mom will literally walk in here and take my laptop so that I 're-enter society and interact with others' (direct quote).**

 **So yes, I wish I could get you more updates faster, trust me. But I don't think that is going to happen, and I apologize profusely for that. I just don't want to burn out the story line.**

 **And I already know the ending, and trust me, it's pretty great ;)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry this is so short, I had like no time to write this week. I promise the next one will be longer.**

 **Good news peeps! My mom accepts me for being bi... even though she thinks that "this is just a phase" and that I'm "not that type of person."**

 **Ugh. Parents.**

 **Anyways-storytime!**

 **Tw: Self-harm, swearing, homophobic slur, depressed thoughts and actions.**

"Mr. Hamilton!"

Alex's head shot up so fast that his glasses went flying of his face. Jefferson was snickering across the room, and Mr. Washington was glowering at him. If looks could kill, Alex would be sitting up in Heaven helping Izzie with her homework while his mom made coffee.

"A moment of your time? Or is my lesson not interesting enough for you?" Mr. Washington was just a blurry outline, but Alex was pretty sure that he had his arms crossed.

"I'm sorry sir, I haven't been sleeping that well," Alex hurriedly apologized, picking up his glasses from the floor. John was frowning at him, obviously not happy that Alex had just admitted to not sleeping.

"Well, next time you go out partying, try to fall asleep in a different class." Alex opened his mouth to argue that, no, he had not been at a party, then thought better. He was already on his proffessor's bad side, he didn't want to make things worse. He picked his pencil up and started wrtiting down notes.

"Why didn't you tell me that you weren't sleeping?" John asked as they walked out of class, his eyebrows scrunched up worriedly.

Alex shrugged. "It's not going to make anything different. It's just a side affect of my new meds, I guess I haven't found the right balance of sleeping meds and antidepressants yet."

John opened his mouth, but before he could say anything he was shoved forward. "Hey!" He said, and turned around. Jefferson smirked, "Move your queer ass, homo."

Alex turned red.

"Don't talk to him. This is our fight, not his," he said, his voice quiet. Jefferson scoffed.

John tugged on Alex's shirt, "It's fine. I can handle it."

Alex flashed back to when he had said those words.

 _I can handle it._

"My fight. Not yours," he repeated, and turned back to Jefferson. "How's you boyfriend, Thomas?" He called, and Jefferson glared at him.

"Ew, he's not my boyfriend-" He started, and a kid that kind of looked liked Hercules shoved past him, his face flushing.

"James, wait!" Jefferson yelled, and he turned back to glare at Alex. "You're going to pay for this," he snarled, and sprinted after James.

Alex let out the breath he'd been holding and John sighed. "When are you going to start getting along with him?"

"Um, never," Alex snorted, "I hate the guy. And he hates me. It's the perfect balance."

John rolled his eyes and frowned.

X

"Alex, come on we're going to the cafeteria. You have to eat at some point."

Alex shook his head. "I'm okay, John, really. I'll meet up with you when I finish this paragraph," he muttered, eyes fixated on the computer screen. John sighed unhappily. He had thought that Alex had been getting better, but in the past few days...he wasn't so sure.

"John. Seriously, I'll catch up later. I promise." Alex raised his eyebrows, trying to look reassuring. His boyfriend frowned, but grabbed his jacket off of the hook. "If you want me to pick anything up for you, just call me."

"Will do," Alex said, and turned back to his computer. The essay he was writing was his view point on the law that Trump had repealed, a law making it easier for people with mental illness to buy weapons.

It was interesting, since he was now one of the people, one of the percents in the States that suffered with mental health issues.

His head hurt and his eyes burned, a sign that he was definitely exhausted. The perk of his antidepressants: he didn't sleep.

The problem with his antidepressants: he didn't sleep.

It seemed like he was always tired.

Alex closed his laptop; John had been right. He should have gone with them, he was hungry, but at the same time, he didn't want to eat. He didn't really want to gain any weight.

No. He couldn't think like that. He was getting better.

He stood up and grabbed his coat and keys, shutting the door behind him. Walking down the hallway, Alex noticed that is was pretty quiet for a Friday night. People must be at a party or something, somewhere where there was beer and music. Wherever the alcohol was, college kids seemed to follow.

The leaves crunched underneath his feet, breaking the silence of the darkness. It was pitch black out, save for the streetlights that cast small circles of light onto the sidewalk.

Alex was walking by the science building, half way to the dining hall, when a person seemed to melt out of the darkness.

"Well, well, well. I warned you, Hamilton." Jefferson smirked as he stepped out of the shadows. Alex rolled his eyes. "Can I just go eat my horrible cafeteria food in peace, please?"

"Yeah, no." Jefferson shoved Alex into the side of the science wing (why were all these buildings made of bricks?) and Alex's head smacked hard against the uneven surface. He winced.

Jefferson's hand flashed in the darkeness, and Alex's skull hit the brick again as he felt a blow to his face. Blood started to trickling down his lips, presumably from his nose.

Fingers closed around his throat, trapping him against the wall. The trickle became a river, and Alex looked up at Jefferson, staring at him straight on, silently challenging him to do something more.

Jefferson squeezed, constricting Alex's windpipe, enough to make it hard to breath, especially with the blood that was running down his face and into his mouth.

"No one will ever want to be with you. You're a poor little freak, and the only reason you're here is because the headmaster felt bad for you."

Alex gasped, struggling for air. "I must mean something to you, Jefferson, since you obviously think I'm a threat," he wheezed, gagging on the stream of blood that was coming from his nose. Jefferson snorted, "Don't think so highly of yourself, Hamilton. You're worth about as much as the trash I see in the ditch."

He let go of Alex, who dropped to the ground in a crumpled heap, coughing. Jefferson laughed. "Pathetic," he muttered, and walked away, a blurry outline in the streelight.

Black spots flashed in front of Alex's eyes, and he sat up, causing more blood to gush down the front of his face, staining his gray shirt. Shit. John was going to wonder what happened.

He hauled himself up, wincing at the pain in his head, and brought his hand to his nose. It came away covered in blood, and Alex swore. His nose felt like it was broken, his head hurt like hell, and he still needed to finish his essay.

He started trudging his way back to his dorm, trying to keep the bleeding to a minimum. He stripped off his coat and shirt, and went into the bathroom, rooting around for gauze.

Jefferson's words echoed around in Alex's head.

No one will ever want you. You're a poor little freak.

 _He was right_ , Alex thought sourly. He was a burden to his friends and to John. He was surprised that they hadn't already abandoned him somewhere.

Once the bleeding had stop, Alex was relieved to discover that his nose was not in fact broken. He didn't need to go back to the hospital, he had been there enough to last a lifetime.

He pulled on another sweatshirt, balling up his shirt and throwing it in the trash.

 _When are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut?_

Now he wasn't even hungry anymore. The metallic taste that was left over in his mouth was making him nauseous.

Alex sat down at his desk, but he couldn't seem to write. His hands were shaking, his heart was in his throat.

 _Oh, my God. You are not having a panic attack just because you got one little nose bleed._

He got up and started to pace, digging his nails into his palms until there were half-moon crescents etched into his skin.

 _Not again, you aren't doing that again. You promised John._

But once again, Alex found himself rummaging in the bathroom cabinet, searching for the razor he had hidden, just in case.

 _One more time. And then you stop for good._

Three lines of blood welled up, scarlet against his pale skin.

 _I'm sorry, John._

X

Alex curled up on his bed, facing the wall. He heard the door open and then close, and John's voice.

"Hey, you didn't come. What happened?"

Alex shrugged. "I don't feel that great, I'm sorry." He rolled over, dragging the blanket with him so that it covered his arms.

John frowned, "Don't be sorry, that sucks. Did you finish your essay?"

Alex shook his head, "No, I didn't. I have a headache."

That part was true at least. He did get headaches when he was feeling like this, headaches that pounded nails into the back of his skull, headaches that were so bright and loud that they canceled out the world until it was only pain.

"Well, if you need anything, just ask." John smiled at him and went into the bathroom.

Alex sat up.

He had forgotten to put his razor back.

 _Shit_.

"Alex."

 _Shitshitshitshit_.

John walked out holding the razor. "What is this?" He asked quietly, and Alex blinked back at him.

"I thought you were getting better," John said, and Alex stared at the ground. "I thought I was too," he whispered, and John sat next to him and gently pulled up his sleeves.

John sighed.

"Well, fuck."

X

Alex pulled the blanket farther over his head. He was exhausted. It seemed to settle into his bones, weighing him down, making him so heavy he felt like he could sink through the floor.

He could hear John moving around outside of his cocoon. He was probably getting ready for class.

Alex groaned internally. He really didn't want to go to class. He didn't want to pretend to jot down notes that he wouldn't really pay attention to, he didn't want to put on a happy face when really he felt like absolute crap.

A hand settled gently on his shoulder.

"Come on, Alex, we have to go to class," John said softly. He was trying to help him, trying to get him out back into the world.

Alex slowly poked his head out of his blanket burrito. "I don't feel that great. I think I'm going to stay here today," he mumbled, and John suppressed a sigh.

"Okay. Just be careful. Don't do anything. And call me if you need help," he said, and gathered his stuff, then shut the door quietly on his way out.

Alex burrowed back into his nest. It was quiet here. Dark. Warm.

Comfortable.

No probing questions. No worried friends. No annoying Jefferson.

He drifted between conciousness and sleep, fragments of dreams staying behind in his head while he tried to block out the world.

Alex knew that he needed to get help. He needed his meds adjusted again, he needed to get up and do something before the situation got worse than it already was.

But at the same time...

What was the point? It would always be like this, the same cycle of feeling better and then feeling worse, where heavy blankets of fog lay down on his shoulders until he felt like he was being crushed into the ground.

His door opened again.

"John, I don't want to go to class," he groaned into the pillow.

"Okay, first of all, I'm not John, second, we're not going to class, we're getting coffee."

Alex looked up.

Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy stood in the doorway, Angelica being the one who had spoken.

"I don't want coffee, I want to go back to sleep," Alex muttered, and Angelica rolled her eyes. "Well that sucks. We're all sick of watching you sit and mope around. You're coming with us." She threw a shirt at him, "Get dressed, mopey."

Alex grumbled and dragged himself out of bed, going into the bathroom and pulling on a shirt and pants, then yanking his hair up into a messy bun.

He left a note to John on the door: _The Schuylers kidnapped me for coffee. If I'm not back in two hours come save me._

It was chilly out, and Alex was grateful he had on a thick sweatshirt. They walked to the coffee shop, the sisters chatting and trying to get Alex to participate.

It did kind of feel good to be out of his dorm room. He was reluctant to admit it, but Alex was kind of grateful that the Schuylers were forcing him back into society. Maybe it was what he really needed.

"So whats been happening?" They were all sitting around a table, sipping their coffees, and Eliza had just asked the question that opened the gates of information.

Alex shrugged and looked at his coffee. "I get depressed sometimes. It's not that much of a big deal."

Angelica raised her eyebrows, "Um, obviously it is a big deal. For the past three days John's been flipping his lid."

Alex felt a flash of guilt.

Three days? He must have lost track of time.

And poor John...No wonder he was worrying.

Well, now at least he was outside. He was socializing.

 _You're at college now, Alex. Pull your shit together and deal with it. You can't just hide in your bed when this happens. Grow up._

"Well, I'm out of my room now. You guys kind of forced me to re-enter society," he said, and gave a small smile. Peggy giggled.

"Angie's kind of pushy that way," she said apologetically, and Eliza laughed. "Yeah, she's been ordering us around since we were kids."

Angelica shrugged, "It's true."

"So what are you guys here for?" Alex asked, realizing he didn't know that much about them. He knew that Angelica was dating a guy named John Church, Eliza was single, and Peggy was dating Maria, and that was it.

"Well, I'm studying to be a lawyer, Eliza is training to be an EMT, and Peggy-"

"I can tell my own damn career choice," Peggy cut in, smiling. She turned to Alex, "I'm here on an art scholarship."

"That's cool," Alex said, and he smiled back at Peggy. "I haven't decided yet, but I know I want to do something with writing and maybe politics or the law."

Angelica nodded, "I think you'd be a great politician, you definitley are good at arguing from what I hear from John. He talks about you alot."

Alex blushed.

X

When the sisters finally let him go back to his room, Alex found John sitting at his desk, staring dazedly at his Law book.

He looked up when he heard the door shut, and smiled tentatively at Alex, "How was coffee?"

"It was actually okay," Alex said, and John visibly relaxed, relieved that Alex was acting a little like his normal self.

"I think I'm going to go to class tomorrow," Alex remarked casually, and John grinned.

"Seriously?"

"Yep. As long as we can get coffee after."

John laughed, "I think I can handle that."


	11. Chapter 11

The smell of pumpkin spice lattes and Thanksgiving was in the air.

And following it was the scent of anxiety with a little dash of terror.

Midterms were right around the corner, and students at the college were cramming 24/7, turning the library, coffee shop, and dorms into an explosion of textbooks and notecards.

Alex had figured that he would be the only one who would actually be caring about the tests, other thatn the Schuylers, but his friends had surprised him once again.

And so it turned out that the group of seven were in the library, books, pens, and study guides scattered everywhere. Alex had his hair in a messy bun, and chunks of it were falling out into his face, which he kept absentmindedly brushing away as he scribbled on notecards. John had corralled his hair back into an explosive ponytail, and it seemed that the more stressed he was, the bigger it got. Laf was staring at his essay dazedly, muttering to himself as he sipped his fourth coffee that day. Hercules-well, Herc had given up and was now drooling onto his Chemistry book as he snored.

The sisters were all in different stages: Eliza was hurridedly trying to remember all the bones in the human body, Angelica was close to sobbing over her Law book, and Peggy was considering trying to sacrifice animal crackers to the Gods so that she could pass her Greek exam.

"Alex, what did you get for 37 on the study guide?" John nudged Alex, who was muttering to himself in...Spanish? John had no clue, the only language he spoke was English.

Alex stared at him blankly for second before his brain switched over back to English, and he snatched up a packet that had been hiding underneath his Political Sciences textbook. He shoved the paper at John, then went back to scratching tiny sentences onto an already-crowded piece of notebook paper.

"What-what are you doing?" John asked, looking at the paper with a puzzled expression on his face. "Professor Adams said that we could use any notes on our exam that you could fit on a piece of paper. And now here I am, finding out that I learned absolutely _nothing_ over the whole term." Alex looked like he was about to either pass out from the stress or burst out crying-or both.

"Well," John sighed, "If it helps, I'm pretty sure I'm going to fail all of my classes and end up working at McDonalds for the rest of my life."

There was a sympathized mumbled agreement over the three tables that they all shared, and John was wasn't sure whether to be relieved or scared to know that he wasn't the only one who thought that.

"I... _can't_ ," Laf wheezed, and shut his book before collasping back into his chair. "Yep, my brain's fried," Eliza agreed, and she, too, shut her book before slumping back. Angelica continued to stare at her notes until Eliza gently pried them out of her hands. Peggy laid on the floor, her hair spread into a halo around her head, tears glimmering in her eyes. "Dad's gonna kick me out," she sobbed, and covered her face with her hands.

"Hey," John said, and knelt next to her. "I'm sure he won't make you leave."

"Yes, he will!" Peggy was hysterical. "He already hates that I'm here for _art_ ," she spat the word as though it were despicable, "This'll just prove his point that I can't make it in the real world."

"Well, you can just stay with me. My dad's going to kick me out anyways for being gay." John shrugged. "I'm already moving a little money from his bank account to mine so that I can get what I can before he cuts me off."

There was a collective grumble from the students. It was clear that everyone hated John's dad and thought that he was an asshole.

"I don't know how I'm going to survive these for another four years," Peggy sighed.

"I suggest more coffee." Everyone looked up at Alex, who was blearily watching the rest of the group. Laf queasily nudged his cup back. "No more for me, _mon amie,"_ he muttered. "I have had enough to last a _duree de vie_ , a lifetime."

The group laughed, and Alex smiled tiredly. "It's getting late," John said, and stood up. "I'm going to go back to my room. Alex?"

Alex shook his head. "I'm going to stay here for a bit. Just a little longer and then I'll go home." John nodded and started to pick up his stuff, stuffing papers into books and making a stack of notes. The sisters and Laf started to do the same, trying not to disturb Hercules, who was still snoring.

Finally, while Alex was still staring at his notes, the rest of the group left, including a stumbling Herc. It was about nine at night, and most of the students had gone back to their dorms, probably putting their books underneath their pillows to hopefully gain futher knowledge through osmosis.

Alex put away his Political Sciences book and flipped open his History one; he was hoping that maybe studying a different subject might make him pay more attention.

Alas, that was the not the case, and pretty soon he felt like he was eating carboard: it was tasteless, boring, and utterly inedible.

Alex looked at his phone and sighed. It was around ten thirty, and he should probably head back. Maybe he could try to study a little more back at his dorm before bed, it was certainly putting him to sleep here.

Drawing his coat tighter around himself, Alex hunched his back against the freezing air outside of the library. It was about twenty degrees, a sudden cold spell had hit about a week ago, and even though he had moved to the States a little over three years earlier, Alex still wasn't used to it being this cold. He came from an island where it was usually seventy and sunny, not the Artic.

Footsteps sounded in the dark behind him, and he instictively knew who it was.

"What the hell do you want, Jefferson?"

"Aw, c'mon Hammie, we just want to talk!" Alex turned around and saw a smirking Jefferson, with the two goons he knew to be Samuel Seabury and George King.

"Just let me go back to my dorm, okay? I just want to go home," Alex sighed, and Jefferson pouted. "Alex. Poor, poor Alexander. You see, I just can't do that." He dropped the exagerated frown, his face going cold. "Grab him."

Alex dropped his books, but it was no use. Between two juniors in college and a small freshman that barely tipped the scale at one hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet, there wasn't much of a scuffle.

Blood was running down his chin and the streetlight was blinking above him, shining like a diamond against the dark, cloudy sky. Jefferson's face loomed above his, going in and out of focus, and he said something that Alex couldn't quite make out over the ringing in his ears.

The next thing he knew was that he was being dragged somewhere, and his senses jumped alive when the burning smell of chlorine hit his nose.

 _Oh no._

"Okay, Hamilton, here's the thing. You need to learn to keep your fucking mouth shut. So I'm going to help you with that and fill it with something. Like, oh, I don't know, water?" Jefferson grinned at Seabury and King. "Go ahead, boys."

If you didn't know it, dear reader, water is quite cold in November, especially in twenty something degree weather. Even if it's in a heated pool, I wouldn't recommend it.

Alex didn't recomend it either.

It felt like hitting a block of ice.

Water flooded his mouth and nose, stinging his eyes. Other than the fact that it was so cold that he couldn't feel his toes, Alex might have wanted to just sink to the bottom of the pool. It was quiet here. Peaceful.

Plus he wanted to see what Jefferson's face looked like when he found out he had drowned a fellow student.

At least the freezing temperature had dragged him out of his stupor; it felt like it had shocked his brain back into action. His feet brushed against the bottom of the pool, and he pushed off against it, kicking to the surface.

The freezing air felt like knives in Alex's lungs, but he gladly gulped it, partly grateful that he wasn't at the bottom of the pool.

Hauling himself out of the water, Alex was glad for once that he kept forgetting to put his phone in his pocket. It it had been with his books, and although Jefferson might have taken it, he was happy that it wasn't a waterlogged, dripping mess like the rest of him. His glasses had somehow not been lost in the escapade, which was great, because otherwise he would be blindly walking around all night and would probably freeze to death before he found his dorm.

Luckily Jefferson and his posse had dissapeared, but the cold was already causing frost to start forming on his sweatshirt, and his fingertips were going numb, along with his toes. He sighed, then started his way back to the dorms, earning a few strange looks from the students who were still out. Gingerly picking up his books off the ground so as not to drench them (his phone was still there, thank God), he left a trail of water on the sidewalk as he walked along, like a trail of bread crumbs from that fairy tale. Only it wasn't a fun trek in the woods; instead it was shameful walk back to his room, like some poor drowned rat that had fled the Titanic while it was sinking.

Alex thanked God that no one was around as he squished over to the stairs, leaving puddles all over the carpet and the floor.

He fished his key out of his pocket (another thing he was grateful he hadn't lost), and opened the door to reveal John, who looked up from his phone at his desk.

"Oh he- _what the fuck happened to you?!"_

"Jefferson."

"What?"

Alex squelched his way over to the bathroom, trying not to drip water all over everything. "I'll tell you after my shower."

"From the looks of it, you've already had one."

Alex ignored the comment and shut the door, turning on the shower to the hottest it could go. He peeled off his clothes and piled them into a wet messy ball that he left in the sink, then stepped into the shower.

The spray felt burning, like it was so hot it would melt off his skin, but Alex didn't mind. It was better than being freezing his ass off.

He scrubbed the blood of off his face and arms, then washed his hair three or four times, but the acrid smell of chlorine didn't seem to want to leave. It stayed, taunting him while it mixed with the steam, until the whole bathroom smelled like a hot tub at a hotel.

Finally, when his skin was as red as a lobster's from the heat, he shut off the water and ruffled a towel around his hair, then pulled on a sweatshirt and pajama pants, along with his glasses, which fogged up almost immediately from the steam. He looked distastefully at the dripping ball of clothes, then threw them into the bottom of the tub, where, Alex figured, they could stay until the next morning.

He flopped onto his bed and threw an arm over his face. It was too bright in here, and the whiteness seemed to burrow it's way under his eyelids and into his brain, where it stayed, pulsing, a beacon behind his eyes.

He felt the bed shift, and he opened his eyes. John was sitting on the edge, his eyebrows raised. "So what happened?"

Alex sighed, "Well, first they beat me up," he touched his nose and winced, "And then they threw me into a pool."

"They?"

"Yeah, Seabury and King. Jefferson helped."

John shook his head, "I hate those guys. They think they own everything, just because they're rich." He laid down next to Alex, sighing.

Something glinted around John's neck, catching in the light from the desk lamp. Before he could stop himself, Alex reached out and touch the silver chain, fingering it lightly. John froze, and Alex quickly withdrew his hand.

"Sorry," he said, "I just never noticed that you wore a necklace."

John reached up and touched the chain, as if to remind himself that it was still there. "I don't wear it that often," he said, and looked at Alex. He shrugged, "It was my mom's. I-I found it stuffed away in a box, in the back of the hall closet." He swallowed and glanced up at the ceiling. "Dad went a little crazy after she died. You know, like it just hurt too much to remember her. One day I came home from school and all of her stuff-it was just gone. He shoved it into a couple of boxes and put it somewhere he couldn't see it. It was like she never existed."

John pulled the necklace out from underneath his shirt, reavealing a long, thin chain that held a...quarter? No, Alex decided, not a quarter, but a coin of some sort. It was a bit bigger than a quarter, with foreign writing curving around the edges.

"What does it say?" he asked, and John laughed. "I have no idea," he said, and turned it over in his hands. "I could never read it. And I never got the chance to ask her about it."

Alex squinted, "It looks like Russian. Or maybe German?"

John shook his head, "Nah, its Polish. Mom's great grandparents were Polish immigrants. She always thought that was cool, so for their wedding anniversary my dad got her this."

"I wish my dad would have done something like that," Alex muttered, and John looked up. "What do you mean?" He asked, and Alex shrugged. "He never really seemed to love us. Like, I know he liked me and my mom, but it was the way you like a stranger's puppy. It's cute and everything, but you don't really want it for yourself. It wasn't that surprising when he walked out. At least to me it wasn't," he added, and shook his head. "Mom took it kind of hard."

"When did he leave you guys?" John questioned, and Alex had to think for a minute. "I think I was nine. I knew it was coming, you know, there was a lot of signs. They fought a lot, almost every day. The night he left they were screaming at each other downstairs, and I was in my room, trying to read. He came up the stairs and went into their bedroom, packed a suitcase, told me that he loved me, and left. Mom was in denial for a little bit afterwards. She kept waiting for him to walk back through the door and apologize."

Alex sighed. "And then she died. When I was twelve. We both got really sick. I made it. She didn't. And she never saw him again. I mean, I didn't either. And I'm okay with that. Because he's scum. Complete and utter scum." Alex was twisting the comforter between his hands, an angered expression on his face. And underneath that was a layer of hurt, too. John just nodded. He didn't know what to do, all of his friends had their familys intact. Other than Laf of course, but that was a different situation. But he wanted to distract Alex a little. He didn't need to dwell on things like this. Especially when he was supposed to be focusing on positive stuff.

"Do you like musicals?" John blurted out, and Alex's head snapped up. "Yeah," he said, a smile growing on his face. "Yeah, I do. Why?"

John shrugged, and blushed a little. Here was an example of when he had absolutely no filter. "I was just wondering. You've never told me what type of music you like."

"No, I like musicals. A lot, actually. How did you know?"

"I just-I had a feeling," John said vaguely, and Alex smiled at him.

"What's your favorite one?" He asked, and John went even more red. "What?" Alex said, laughing. "What's wrong?"

"Just-don't laugh, okay? Promise that you won't laugh."

"Okay...Unless it's something really weird, but other than that I promise." John threw a pillow at Alex, who ducked, giggling.

"Okay...I like The Phantom of the Opera." John waited for Alex to start laughing, but it never came. Instead a slow smile spread across his face. "What?" John asked suspiciously.

"I would never peg you for that kind of guy, but that's cool. I haven't heard it, but I know the back story, kind of. That's cool."

"You haven't heard Phantom?" John exclaimed incredulously, and Alex shrugged. "No?"

John gaped at him. "Wow. Okay, wow. We need to get you out of the house more."

Alex shrugged, "It's French, right? Or maybe it's Russian?"

John groaned and fell back. "You know what? Your musical education begins right now. A _proper_ education."

Alex pretended to glare at him, "Hey! I know musicals, okay? I like Dear Evan Hansen!"

John nodded, "Yeah, that one is pretty good. I liked that. That and Phantom are my top two."

"Okay, Mr. Musicals, tell me what Phantom is about."

John grinned, "It's awesome. I got to see it when I was a freshman in high school; we went to see it on a band trip before Christmas break."

"Oh, a band geek, huh? I'm learning all sorts of things about you tonight." Alex ducked another pillow missile.

"I played the trombone. That's it! Anyways," John continued, rolling his eyes, "It was one of the best nights of my life. Plus it was one of my mom's favorites." He smiled sadly. "The day we went was the anniversary of her death. That made it a little bit more special."

Alex flopped next to him, propping himself up on his elbows. "That sucks. But I bet she was happy that you got to see it, right?"

John laughed, "Yeah. That and the fact that afterwards, my band director made the mistake of asking how many of us really liked musicals. And that's how the band bus ended up driving down the road at twelve AM, belting out "Sincerely Me" from Dear Evan Hansen."

Alex started laughing, "Okay, I'm sorry, but I can totally see you doing that."

"Mrs. Dawson never made that mistake again."

Alex rolled over and started playing with John's hair. "Now. Please enlighten me with this Phantom thingie."

And so John proceded to explain the plot, smiling as he talked about little orphaned Christine, and Raoul, and the Phantom, who lived in the basement of the opera house, until Alex started yawning. John glanced at the clock.

"It's one in the morning. I think we need to go to sleep," he whispered, and Alex nodded tiredly. John let out a ginormous yawn.

"I don't want to go back to my bed," he murmured, and Alex snuggled closer to him. "Then don't," he whispered, and tugged up a blanket, wrapping it around both of them. He reached up and flipped off the light on the desk behind his bed, shrouding the room in darkness. John pulled the blanket over a little more (unfortunately Alex was the kind of boyfriend who stole the covers), and listened as Alex's breathing evened out. He finally drifted off a little later, with the nagging feeling you get when you think you forgot something, but can't figure out what.

Oh, well.

He'd figure it out in the morning.

X

Morning light filtered through the blinds. Alex blinked open his eyes, then slowly realized there was a person next to him. John.

He closed his eyes again. He wanted to enjoy this for just a little bit longer...

He shot up.

The clock was fuzzy, and Alex fumbled for his glasses. He found them, shoved between the mattress and his pillow, and pushed them onto his face as fast as he could without poking his eyes out.

The clock read-

"John. John! Johnathan, wake up! It's ten in the morning! WE HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO GET TO WASHINGTON'S!"

John sat up, his hair askew. "Huh?"

Alex jumped out of bed and threw a shirt at him, "Get dressed!"

John clambered out of bed and tripped over the blanket, almost breaking his nose in the process. Alex grabbed a pair of jeans off the floor and tugged them on, not caring if they were clean or not. John fumbled around for his books, then stopped dead in the middle of the room, a look of horror growing on his face.

"Come on, John, we have to go!" Alex exclaimed, shoving stuff into his bag.

John blinked at him, "I never got my essay finished!"

Alex snorted, "Well, that's your problem now, buddy! You had two weeks to do it."

John looked at him hopefully, "Can I use yours?"

"NO!"

"Aw, c'mon Alex, please? I can't afford to fail this class, my dad will kill me!"

Alex was shaking his head, "No. No way. You can't cheat off of me!"

John's eyes were pleading. "Please! I'll let you-" He stopped, thinking for a moment, then his eyes grew wide. _"I will buy you coffee for the rest of the year."_

Alex stopped. His mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. He sighed. "Okay, that's tempting, that's really tempting." He paused, then shook his head. "No. No."

John put his face in his hands. "What am I going to do?"

Alex shoved him towards the door, "I don't know, but you can figure it out on the way there."

X

They got there just before class started. Washington raised his eyebrows at their disheveled appearances, then sighed and shook his head before turning back to his stack of papers.

Alex slid into his seat and fixed his ponytail, which was falling out due to the sprint across campus. John was staring at his desk top, looking like a man condemed to the gallows.

Washington walked to the front of the room, "All right, ladies and gentlemen, if you could open you textbooks to page 394, I would greatly appreciate it. A reminder that your essay on the revolutionary war and it's impact on American society is due today."

Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw John flinch. He felt bad, horrible, actually, that he hadn't been able help, but he knew that cheating wouldn't help his boyfriend get anywhere. It could get him suspended, or worse, expelled, if Washington found out. And then where would he be?

At the same time, Alex didn't want John to suffer his father's wrath. Henry Laurens was not a man he wanted to mess with, especially from what John had told him.

Throughout the class period, John grew increasingly paler, until his freckles stood stark against his skin. When the class ended, Alex nudged him back to life, and John stood up. "What am I going to do?" He whispered. "I can't turn it in late, can I?"

Alex sighed. "Okay. Here's what you're going to do. You're going to go up there, ask Washington for an extension, and if he gives you one, great. If not, well, you deal with it and get on with your life."

John swallowed and nodded. He must be really scared of his father, Alex figured, if he was this terrified of getting a bad grade.

"I'll wait for you outisde," he said, and John nodded again. He gathered his courage and walked to the front of the room, and Alex peeked around the corner before standing in the hallway. He didn't want to have another Jefferson encounter and get thrown into another pool.

John came out five minutes later, his shoulders sagging in relief. "I have two more days to get it done," he said. "But Washington made it clear that he'll never do it again. Not for me or anyone. But, I'm an exception since he knows what my dad is like..." He trailed off and let the sentence hang out in the air.

They walked back to their dorm in silence.

Alex was having his own problems. Christmas was less than two months away, and he was sure that everyone was expecting a present.

And he was broke.

Well, not broke, exactly. He had a little bit of money saved up, and he knew his friends would appreciate anything he got them, but still. It wouldn't feel like enough.

Anyways, he already had most of his gifts mapped out in his head:

Something to do with musicals for John.

A book on medical stuff for Eliza, a book on Lin-Manuel Miranda and his lawyer days for Angelica, and probably a book on the history of art for Peggy.

He had no idea what to get for Herc and Laf, so he was brainstorming. He had a couple of suggestions, especially when Herc had brought Laf's hair pulling dilemma to his attention, but nothing set in stone yet.

Alex rubbed his eyes. He was tired more easily these days, and he blamed it on the weather. Gone were the cool, bright sunny days of fall; dreary, cloudy overcasts were beginning to be the norm. It made the days drag a little longer, and the lack of sunlight was effecting everyone. Even bright Peggy was a little grumpy at times now.

Back in their room, Alex tossed his bag into the corner and sat down at his desk. He was working on an essay for his Political Sciences class, and the assignment was 10,000 words or more. Alexander already knew that it would be more. A lot more.

He pulled up a few articles online and scanned over them, then opened up his book to review a few things. John worked silently behind him, his keyboard clicking madly as he worked on his overdue essay. Alex started mapping out his thoughts on a sheet of paper: the points he would make, introductions to paragraphs. It was how he worked, and he was comfortable with it that way. Yes, he could open a document and start writing, and it would still turn out good, but he liked organization. Which was probably why their dorm looked neat and orderly, and Herc and Laf's looked like a tornado had just blown through it.

Speaking of Laf... Alex scribbled down a reminder on a Post-It and stick it to the edge of his desk for later.

They worked until Alex's phone beeped, a warning that his Law class would be starting soon. It was 2:00 already, and he had missed lunch. Oh, well. He grabbed a granola bar from a drawer (he still had a small supply smuggled away), then stood and stretched. John still had his eyes glued to his laptop, and Alex tapped him on the shoulder, "I'm going to Law. I'll be back in an hour and a half or so."

"Mmm," John said in response, and he went back to typing. Alex smiled and grabbed his bag, shutting the door quietly behind him.

He nibbled on his granola bar on the way to his class, then decided that it was no use. He wasn't really hungry, and he knew that he wouldn't finish it in time anyways. He wrapped it back up and stuffed it into a pocket in his bag, then took out his phone, checking to see if there was any notifications, before turning it off so that it wouldn't distract him from his work.

Alex pulled open the door to the classroom and slid into his seat, gathering his textbook and notebook and stacking them neatly. He liked order, but usually thrived on chaos, which was probably why he had written so much in foster care.

His proffesor walked in, a middle aged woman that rarely smiled, but she seemed to like Alex, and that made him happy. At least he was doing something right here.

As the lesson wore on, Alex quickly copied down notes, trying to nail down anything that might help him on midterms. He had always been good at tests, well, anything school related, really, but he knew how much these exams mattered. To be honset, the gravity of the situation terrified him. These resluts would play a giant part in his future. And he already felt anxious just thinking about them.

While there was a lull in the discussion on a case that was being talked about on the news, Alex caught his fingers resting on his collarbone, and quickly yanked them away. That had been a bad habit from when he was still having issues with eating, and he didn't want to fall back into old habits. His friends were already worried enough.

When his class was over, he put his book and notes back into his bag and stood up before heading to the door. His professor stopped him on his way out.

"Alexander. I just wanted you to know that you're doing remarkabley well and are at the top of your class. Keep up the good work." She smiled at him, and Alex grinned back. He left feeling like he was on top of the world. This was what he had worked so hard for. It was all finally paying off.

Now he just needed to keep it this way. In all of his classes.


	12. Chapter 12

**Tw: depressed thoughts, disordered eating, panic attacks, self hate, Burr being his weird-ass self.**

"Mr. Burr. What are your standings on the Florida gun control change?"

A small man in the back fiddled with his laptop cord, flushing slightly. He was a tad bit taller than Alex (who was he kidding, everyone was taller than him), and was wearing a dark purple sweatshirt, so dark it was almost black.

"Um, well..." Burr cleared his throat and looked up. "What are your outlooks, sir?"

Washington sighed and glanced at the ceiling, with an expression that said, _Why is it always me who gets this kind of thing?_

"Never mind," he grumbled, and turned to Alex. "Alexander, your insight, if you will."

Alex sat up straighter in his chair. "I believe that there are two conflicting sides, sir. I truly think that the law was a good idea, but now the state of Florida is paying for it with backlash from the NRA. It was passed with good intentions, and I think that it will hopefully start a decline of crime for teens, but ultimately I believe that it won't play as big of a part as it was meant to. Passing this law doesn't stop kids from taking their parent's guns and doing what they want with it. In my opinion, it will help us get to better control, but we aren't completely shutting down the problem just yet."

The classroom was quiet, a bit taken aback from Alex's short spiel. Washington raised his eyebrows and awarded Alex a faint smile, something that he almost never gave. "Thank you, Mr. Hamilton, for voicing that so nicely. I happen to agree with your standings."

In the back, Burr sank lower in his seat and scowled. Alex shot him a sympathetic look, but he just frowned in response. _Whatever_ , Alex thought, and turned back around, re-focusing on the lecture. Washington had now moved onto a different subject and was talking about types of guns and how they worked during revolutionary times. John was scratching down notes next to him; ever since he had missed his essay he was working twice as hard on his schoolwork. Angelica approved, but Alex suspected that John's dad was the object that was giving John drive.

Washington glanced at the clock. "Alas, it seems that our river has run dry." The class stared back uncomprehendingly. "Our time is up," he clarified, and students started putting books into their bags. Alex quickly stuffed his books away and hurried out the door, barely pausing to wait for John, who had to jog to catch up.

"Where are you running off to?" He asked, only half joking, and Alex glanced over his shoulder. "Jefferson," he muttered, and John just nodded. He had given up on trying to get Alex to just ignore him.

Alex was so busy looking for Jefferson that he almost ran over a guy in a purple sweatshirt. "Sorry-" he started to apologize, when the figure turned around and he stopped midsentence. "Oh. Burr. Hey."

Burr raised his eyebrows and his eyes flashed over Alex, taking in his disheveled appearance, with Alex's ratty Converse and his hair in a messy bun.

He smirked.

Burr cleared his throat. "I believe we haven't properly introduced yet." He held out his hand, "Aaron Burr Junior. My father used to be the Headmaster before his untimely passing alongside my mother." A smug little smile had crept up his face.

Alex quickly stuck out his hand, almost dumping his bag onto the sidewalk in his haste. "Alexander Hamilton. Pleased to meet you."

John shifted uncomfortably behind him, then peeked over Alex's shoulder, "Hi. I'm John."

Burr rolled his eyes just the tiniest bit, and Alex got the subtle feeling that this guy would do anything, play _anyone_ , to get what he wanted.

Alex re-adjusted his bag, self-consciously trying to make himself tidier. "So...If you don't mind, can you please move? I have to go to Fiction-Writing in a few minutes."

Burr got out of the way, then fell into step next to Alex. "I've noticed that you're very outspoken in class. You like sharing your ideas."

Alex smiled, "Yeah, I like talking about history and law. I get that from my dad."

Burr frowned a little. "I would be careful, if I were you."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, some people don't like it when others get in their way." Burr's eyes roamed over the campus, looking slightly like an animal that's always looking for a predator- or a fight.

Alex looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "Burr, what are you saying?"

"You should be careful about what comes out of your mouth."

Alex rolled his eyes and sighed. "Are you talking about Jefferson?" He asked, and Burr shrugged. "I'm talking about anyone," he said vaguely.

"Look," Alex said sharply, "I already have enemies here. I understand that you're trying to help. But I know what I'm doing, okay?"

Burr stopped outside of the English building. "Okay. If you think you have it all under control, then I guess you do. Good luck, Alexander." He smiled a smile that people who think they know more than you do have. "I'll see you around."

And just like that, Burr was gone, walking at a brisk pace back down the way they came, then turned the corner and disappeared.

Alex watched him go. "Well, that was strange."

John looked at the spot where Burr had last been, "He's kind of the oddball on campus. But, y'know, everyone sucks up to him since his dad was Headmaster."

Alex shrugged, "Well, at least he didn't make me late." He turned to John and hugged him, "I'll see you later, 'kay?"

"Okay. I love you." John smiled down at him.

Alex turned red. He hadn't been expecting this. "I, um, uh-yeah. You too," he stuttered, and wanted to reach backwards in time and slap himself. "I, um, I gotta go," he said, and broke away, putting his head down and walking quickly, leaving John standing there alone, a slightly hurt expression on his face.

X

Alex zoned out completely. He forgot what Professor Abeline was talking about, forgot about that he was supposed to be taking notes. The only thing his brain had could focus on was "I love you."

John had told him he loved him.

And he loved him back, but...

For the past six years, ever since he had been seperated from his brother when their mom had died, those words hadn't been meant for Alex's ears. He had heard it in public, when parents dropped their kids off at school and told them that they loved them, and the teenagers would just roll their eyes and walk away as fast as possible to avoid being teased by peers.

It was like being reintroduced back to the modern world after being in a third-world country.

Alex would know how that felt, since he had been in that spot before.

Holy shit, John loved him.

Alex blinked. Classmates were walking out of the door, and Alex hastily grabbed his stuff, hauling himself out of his seat. He had lunch next. With John. And Herc and Laf, and the sisters, but still. With John. Who loved him.

Alex grinned like an idiot.

He didn't like getting close to people. Nine foster homes in the past four years had taught him that getting close to people always ended in disaster. He gave up on making friends and just kept his head down at school instead, focusing on schoolwork and books. And writing. Always writing. He still had composition notebooks stuffed away in his suitcase that were bursting with his words, not to mention the old files on his computer from when he had first gotten it.

And yes, they had been dating for almost two months, but still. Alex wasn't usually comfortable with touching people, or being close in any way to anyone.

John was different. John was special. John didn't care that Alex had to make his bed a certain way every morning or else he felt like the room was way too off, and he didn't care that Alex wore long sleeves all the time, and he didn't think that it was weird that Alex took meds because his brain was messed up.

He was almost to the commons now. He could tell because he could hear a low rumble of voices, like a tremor before an earthquake hit.

Alex spotted John and his friends almost immediately, mostly because of Hercules, who was like a giant sitting at their table.

Alex sat down next to John, who smiled tightly at him. Laf raised his eyebrows and looked between them, sensing the chemistry change, while Hercules obliviously slurped on his smoothie. Laf opened his mouth, but Alex shot him a look that said, _drop it._

He pulled out his Political Science textbook and set it on the table in front of him, planning on getting in some extra study time. John nudged him, "Aren't you going to eat anything?"

Alex shrugged, "Nah, I'm not that hungry. And I don't want to get anything on my notes." John frowned and silently offered up his chip bag, which crackled invitingly. Alex hesitantly reached in and pulled out some chips, and set them on a napkin, where they wouldn't get anywhere near his books.

Grease. Touching his stuff. He shuddered inwardly.

Alex took out his notebook and started writing stuff down, glancing up occasionally to make a comment in John and Laf's argument about whether cereal was a soup or not.

"It can't be a soup!" John exclaimed. "It's not hot!"

"Vichyssoise is cold," Laf pointed out. "It's still a soup." John stared at Laf. "What the _fuck_ is fishysaw?"

Lafayette snorted at John's butchering of the French language, "Non, non, _vichyssoise_." He pronounced it like vish-ee-saw. "It's like a cucumber soup, but served cold."

Alex picked up one of the potato chips and popped it into his mouth. He sureptiously wiped his hands on his napkin before picking up his pen again.

"Cereal is not a soup, Laf," Herc chimed in, and Laf gaped at him. "Oh, so now you're taking his side?"

"Becuase I'm right," John said triumphantly, and Laf glared. "This is just like in high school with The Incident," he muttered.

"Hey, I didn't break into Herc's locker and steal his shirt-so I could sleep with it," John said defensively, and Lafayette turned red. " _We are not supposed to talk about that,_ " he hissed.

"Yeah, dude, I'm still on John's side. That was a bit creepy," Herc said, and Laf looked hurt. "I missed you."

"I don't care, it was weird-"

John's phone started ringing, a tone that Alex hadn't heard it play before. John, Herc, and Laf all stopped mid-argument and stared at it, varying looks of panic written across their faces.

"Pick it up," Hercules whispered. "He doesn't like it when you don't answer."

John tenatively picked up the phone and cleared his throat. "I'll-I'll be back," he said, and walked out of the commons. Alex looked at Herc. "His dad," Herc mouthed, and Alex nodded. He picked up another chip and forced himself to eat it. He didn't really like chips (they were too messy), but it would make John happy.

Alex went back to his book, while Herc and Laf ate in silence, occasionally glancing at the doorway that John had disappeared through.

John came back in a few minutes, noticably paler than he had been before. Laf opened his mouth, but John just shook his head. "It's fine," he muttered. "Everything's fine." He sullenly picked at his sandwhich, a grim expression on his face.

The table was silent, tension growing over everyone. Alex stared at his book, trying to ignore the pressure, but eventually he looked up. John was glaring at his sandwhich, Laf was flicking through his phone, glancing up to check on John every few seconds, and Herc was trying to silently finish his smoothie (to no avail, since at the end of every drink there's that loud, grating, sucking noise from the straw).

Alex ate another chip, wiped his hands on a napkin, and flipped the page. He read the paragraph about four times before realizing that he wasn't absorbing anything, and that he couldn't even remember what he was supposed to be reading about. Everything was just too distracting: the group of students loudly discussing something on the Internet, the fact that there was grease on his fingers, Herc's smoothie that he _refused_ to let die and just kept making it get louder and louder. It felt like it was bearing down on him.

Alex slammed his book shut and started gathering up his stuff. He had to get out of here, he couldn't do this anymore.

"Where're you going?" John asked grumpily, and Alex shook his head. "I just-I can't concentrate. I'm going back to our room," he said quickly, and almost sprinted out of the commons.

He walked in a daze back to his dorm, keeping his head down. He hated uncomfortable situations like that, hated being in a large group of people. Classes were okay, as long as he could focus on what was being taught, but things like this, with so much noise and pressure and closeness.

Alex got into their room and went into the bathroom, shutting the door and closing his eyes. He just needed a little breathing room, so that he didn't flip out.

He sat on the lip of the tub and took a deep breath. _Okay. Okay, this isn't so bad. Breathe. Just breathe._

 _Be normal for once in your life._

The room had stopped spinning. The buzzing in his ears was gone. Alex let out a small snort. _I'm just Alex in the bathroom._

He stood up and rummaged in the cabinet, coming up with his anti-anxiety pill bottle. He took one, put the bottle back, and walked out, sitting down at his desk.

His stomach hurt a little. His hands felt slightly numb.

But he was fine. No panic attacks. No reason to worry.

No cutting, which was good. He was getting back to being more normal, to being better.

But his stomach still hurt. And the white walls of the dorm were a little too bright.

Alex got up and laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was like he just couldn't make himself move, like he was made of stone. He remembered how his mother had done this, how she wouldn't get out of bed for days on end, leaving Alex and his brother to look after the house and the finances. A memory flashed through his head:

 _Alex was curled up in a ball on his bed, crying softly. His brother was sitting on the end of his bed, not sure what to do. "I'm like her," Alex said, choking on tears, and James sighed. "You're not like her, Alex. You're fine."_

 _"No, I'm not! I'm like her, I'm a freak!" He was twelve, and it was a few months before their mother died. Alex was in seventh grade, James was in ninth, and Alex had already been getting panic attacks since the beginning of the school year. He hated going out in public, hated crowds, hated people in general. Just thinking about it made him panicky. There were days where his mom would have to call in to the school to tell them that Alex wasn't coming, that he was sick, because he was so wracked with anxiety that it made getting out of bed difficult, much less getting on the bus and going to school, where there was shoving kids and so much noise and a sensory over-load._

Alex blinked, brought back to the present. He had been right, his twelve-year-old self. He was a freak, he was like his mom, and it was never going to change. He was going to be stuck like this forever, stuck for all eternity the strange, panicky weirdo.

He heard the door open, and slowly sat up. John plopped down onto his bed and looked at Alex. "Are you okay? You kind of left in a rush."

"I'm fine," Alex said, "It was just...too much at one time." John nodded and stared down at his hands.

"How's your dad?" Alex said tenatively after a small silence, and John rolled his eyes. "Demanding, as usual. He won't get off my back about my Law grade." He glanced at Alex, "He asked if I was over my 'Phase' yet."

"Phase?"

"Being gay."

"Oh..."

They were both quiet for a minute, then Alex opened his mouth. "I'm sorry. For, y'know, earlier. Outside of Fiction Writing."

John looked at him, "Alex, do you... Do you love me?"

Alex blushed. "Yeah. Yeah, I do, it's just...It was a little weird to hear you say that. You haven't said it before."

"I don't have to say it..."

"No!" Alex exclaimed, and John jumped a little.

"No, I like it," he said quieter, and John smiled softly before getting up to sit at his desk. Alex watched him go, watched the way the light flickered over John's shirt and freckles (Alex never knew how cute freckles could be until he met John).

"I really am sorry," he said, and John looked over at him. "I know," he said, and opened his laptop. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"Oh. Okay." Alex swallowed and paused. "It's just that you just seem mad at me. If you're mad at me, please just tell me, because like, if you want to break up with me it's totally fine because I know I'm weird and I never shut up-"

"Alex." John was standing in front of him, holding his hands. "It's okay. I'm not breaking up with you. Just breathe."

"I'm sorry," Alex muttered, and John shook his head. "I'm not breaking up with you," he repeated. "I just really hate my dad, okay?"

"I know. He's an asshole."

John rolled his eyes in agreement. "Yeah, he is."

X

Alex was tapping his hands on his thighs, bobbing his head to the music that was coming out of his earbuds. John was playing with Charlemange the turtle, while also trying to study his Law book, which was open on his lap. It wasn't really working, since John kept having to move Charlemange around so that he could read, and then the turtle would just move back into the center of a paragraph.

Alex started drumming his fingers against the edge of the desk, humming along to whatever song he was listening to. John watched him, an amused look on his face.

The sound of tearing paper interupted his moment.

John looked down at his lap to find that a chunk of the page in his book had been ripped out-and had now taken residence in Charlemange's mouth. He sighed and picked up the turtle, getting up and walking over to the tank, where he put the reptile back and looked in dismay at his now-ruined book.

"Alex?" Alex continued to drum along the side of the desk. John walked over and yanked the earbud out of Alex's ears, music blaring out of the tiny speakers. "Alex?"

"Seriously? That was a good song."

John rolled his eyes, "Can I borrow your Law book? Mine just got eaten by a turtle."

"Excuse me?"

John held up his book as evidence. "My turtle ate my homework."

Alex raised his eyebrows, "I don't think that your professor is going to believe that."

"Yeah, well, then I'm just going to get screamed at by two people instead of one if I don't study. Can I use your book?"

Alex nodded towards his bag, "Take whatever." He popped his earbuds back in and resumed hunching over his laptop, the keys click-click-clicking away.

John rummaged around, finally coming up with Alex's Law book. He sighed when he saw that it was covered in notations. And that Alex had read ahead by at least three chapters.

John opened to the chapter and started reading, trying to ignore Alex's scribbled notes in the margins. He felt like this was a weird take on the book The Half-Blood Prince from the Harry Potter series, but instead of a cool potion book with secret spells they were talking about how to handle an Appeal.

After suffering through the chapter and writing down his own notes (in his own notebook, because otherwise Alex would flip), John stood up and stretched. He was tired and wanted something to do other than study, but midterms were less than four weeks away and they felt like a fire-breathing dragon bearing down on his back.

Alex's music was turned up so loud he could hear a few strains of it, even from across the room. John leaned closer; he recognized the notes from somewhere.

No way...

John excitedly bounded over to his boyfriend and yanked an earbud out, listening. "Um-What are you doing?" Alex asked, looking at John warily.

"You're listening to Phantom?!" John screeched excitedly, and Alex nodded slowly. "Yeah..."

"YES!"

Alex raised his eyebrows in question.

"Oaky, so Herc and Laf and I all went to the same high school, plus we were in band together. So we all saw Phantom in ninth grade, and ever since they've had to deal with me listening to it, evne though they didn't like it as much as I did. Now I have someone who isn't burned out on the songs!."

"Wait, wait, wait," Alex interupted, putting up his hands in a "stop" motion. "Herc and Laf were in band?"

John nodded, "Yep. Laf played trumpet and Herc played flute."

Alex grinned, "Okay, seriously. What did Herc play?"

"The flute!" John insisted, and Alex burst out laughing at the thought of Hercules' giant form playing the tiny, delicate instrument.

As though they had been summoned, a knock sounded at the door. John crossed the room and opened it, and Laf and Herc walked in.

"What're you guys laughing at?" He asked, and Alex grinned at him. "So I hear that you used to play the flute?"

"It's a dignified instrument!" Hercules defended, while Laf and John started laughing along with Alex, who turned to Lafayette. "And you played trumpet, right?" He grinned.

"Oh, be quiet, you petite lion," Laf said, and Alex looked at him with a amused yet quizzical expression on his face. "Petite lion?"

Laf shrugged, "Yes, you are like a little lion cub: small, fierce, always slightly angry. You see it too, non?" He asked John and Herc, who were smiling.

"He's right, Alex,"John said, a laugh bubbling up under his voice, and Alex pretended to roll his eyes. "I guess I'm just going to have to start calling you Jack then."

"Don't." John's demenor changed instantly, his voice turning sharp, his eyes unnaturally hard. "Don't ever call me that."

Alex blinked, taken aback. John had never acted like this before. "Okay," he said quietly, "I won't."

John softened a little, lowering his head in a slight nod. "Thank you."

Hercules cleared his throat, trying to break the sudden tension that was crowding the room. "Laf and I were about to head out. Maybe get pizza. You guys want to come?"

John shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. He felt bad about snapping at Alex, but that name...he couldn't deal with that name. "Sure, I can go. Alex?"

Alex shook his head a little, shoving his hands into his pockets and taking a step backwards. "I'm going to stay here. I, uh, I have an essay to work on." Truth be told, he didn't want to deal with crowds and people and eating in public-and John, who he figured needed a little space. But he did have an essay to work on-it just wasn't a class assignment. It was his own.

John shot him an apologetic look, and Alex gave him a tight lipped smile. He sat back down in his desk chair and turned towards his laptop, "I'll see you guys when you get back, 'kay?"

"Don't work too hard," John said, and Alex nodded, still staring at his laptop. He heard the door close after a few seconds, then waited for a few more before he popped his earbuds in.

Music and words, that was how he had dealt with panic in foster homes and it was how he dealt with panic now.

X

John stared sullenly at his drink, listening to Hercules and Lafayette talk about one of the classes that they had together. He fiddled with his sweatshirt zipper for a minute before pulling out his phone. He wanted to talk to Alex, but he knew that Alex probably didn't want to talk to him.

The look on his face when John had snapped at him...

Guilt twisted in his stomach.

"John?"

John looked up to find Laf and Herc watching him with a little bit of amusement written on their faces. "Huh?" he asked and they smirked in unision.

"Talking to Alex?" Herc asked, and John shook his head. "No, but I feel bad that I yelled at him like that, though."

"I wouldn't say yelled," Laf mused, "just a intense sharp retort." Hercules chuckled and John felt his cheeks turn pink.

"I hate that name, you guys know that," he said, and they both nodded.

"He's not here to call you that. He's miles away," Laf said softly, and it was John's turn to nod. "I know." But I just...can't, was the thought that followed the sentence.

They were all silent for a bit until their pizza came. John piled three pieces of cheesy, hot goodness onto his plate and took a bite, not wating for the slice to stop steaming. It burned his tongue, but it was worth it.

Maybe he'd take some back for Alex.

X

Alex stared at his piece of pizza from the cafeteria. He'd taken it back to his room so that he could work, and now he was regretting his choice. It was just his luck that tonight's dinner was pizza, and that he hadn't avoided it by not going with his friends. _At least the pizza they're having is better_ , he thought as he took a bite, wincing at the feeling of grease on his lips. He forced himself to eat the whole thing, then gladly crumpled the paper plate and shoved it down deep into the trash can.

He sat back down at his desk and put on his music again, turning the volume up. He needed to just drown out the voices in his head for a little while, just until John came back.

But the familiar panic built, rising in his throat as time went on, and Alex eventually shut his computer and pressed his hands to the sides of his head, shoving the earbuds into his ears as far as they could go. For once he wished that his brain would just shut off and quiet down the stuff in his head.

He took his hands off of his ears and dug his nails into his palms, leaving the now-familiar crescent moon shaped indents. Alex drew a ragged breath.

 _Why are you freaking out? You have nothing to flip over._

But Alex was now subconsciously counting how many calories were in pizza, and thinking about his razor, and how he couldn't do this, he needed that, he needed to bleed, he needed punishment, because he lost control and now fat and grease were swimming through his bloodstream and he was a disappointment anyways, no matter what any of his friends or professors said.

Pain helped calm him down. Pain helped center everything, made it clearer, or at least made him think of pain and only pain, and not how he fucked everything up once again.

Alex let out a choked sob.

 _Why are you doing this why are you doing this why why why whywhwhywhywhy_

And now John had taken his only razor, because Alex had fucked up once again and left it out because he was weak and couldn't keep his shit together, and now he was going to sit here and have a fucking panic attack over a slice of fucking pizza.

He ripped out his earbuds and lurched out of his chair, shoving open the bathroom door.

 _Don't do this don't do this don'tdothisdon'tdothisyoushouldn'tbedoingthisALEXLISTENTOYOURSELF_

Alex locked the door behind him and fell to his knees in front of the toilet. Holding his hair back with one hand, he shoved his finger back as far as he could into his throat, wincing. He leaned over the toilet and retched, coughing and gagging.

God, he hated himself so much.

Alex's eyes watered. He was crying now, tears slipping silently down his cheeks as he dry heaved. He rested his forhead on the edge of the toilet for a second, closing his eyes.

He hadn't done this since he was fifteen.

He stood up shakily and flushed, washed his hands and swished water around in his mouth, then spit it out. He looked at his reflection in the mirror: a short, skinny kid with flushed cheeks and bright, watering eyes with dark circles underneath them.

What was he going to tell John?

No. No, he couldn't tell John, wouldn't tell John. John worried about Alex enough, he didn't need him to worry about this too. And anyways, this would never happen again. It was a moment of weakness, it was a mistake, a flaw in judgement.

Alex stared into the mirror until his image was blurred and warped, until he no longer recognized the person reflected back at him.

X

John opened the door to find Alex laying on his bed, reading a thick book that, to John, resembled a brick rather than a novel.

Alex looked up and smiled at him, "How was pizza?"

John held up a small take-out container. "I brought you some. I figured you were too busy writing to remember to eat."

Alex appeared to pale slightly at the sight of the container, but John dismissed it as a trick of the light. Alex shrugged, "I went down and got something to eat at the cafeteria."

 _And then you made yourself puke it back up._ Alex winced at the thought. John looked at him, concern in his eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I just have a headache." The lie rolled off his tongue smoothly, and John nodded, not taking his eyes off of his boyfriend.

"I'm kind of tired," Alex continued, "I think I'm going to go to bed soon."

Okay, now something really was wrong. Alex never went to bed early. It usually took John groggily getting stumbling out of bed, grabbing Alex's laptop, and then putting it underneath his pillow before Alex finally gave in and went to sleep.

John stared at him. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, my head's just bothering me." That part, at least, was true. His head was bothering him, just not in the way John thought.

Alex showered and changed into pajamas, taking two sleeping meds instead of just one. He just wanted to go to bed and put this day behind him.

As he pulled back the blanket, he heard John's voice behind him: "Love you."

Alex turned and smiled a little bit, pushing down the guilt that was now gnawing at his stomach.

"Love you, too."

X

 **Hey guys.**

 **So this chapter was a little hard. It was hard to write, it was hard to read. It was hard to edit.**

 **I write mostly off of my own experiences. Yes, I've dealt with this kind of thing, Alex's issues; actually, most of their friend group's issues, for a while. I've had an eating disorder for some time, same with self-harming. I have an anxiety disorder, I get panic attacks, I have borderline severe depression, and I have OCD. Laf's hair-pulling thing? Yeah, I pull out my hair when I get anxious-so, you know, I basically do it 24/7. I have bald spots behind my ears.**

 **I'm okay. I'm in an okay spot. I read a lot. Listening to musicals helped (and still does). I don't like dealing with my emotions, so usually I just shove them down as far as they can go and then bury them underneath Hamilton songs (I know it's unhealthy but it's better than making myself puke like I used to or cutting). Writing is the best thing to do so far. I talk to a therapist every other Monday (shout-out to you, Sarah, even though I know you'll never see this. I love you!). She got to see Hamilton in Chicago, I'm so jealous! She brought me the playbill back, though, and I'm going to frame it and hang it in my room.**

 **I still get panic attacks a lot, but they're becoming more manageable. I'm not passing out from them anymore, so that's good. I try to focus most of my energy into school, writing, and riding my horses.**

 **I still have a lot to say, especially on all of the issues with Alex, the Revolutionary Set, and myself...I'm just not ready to say them yet. I don't have the right words as of now.**

 **Just please stay safe, everyone. And I love you, all of you. Remember that.**

 **X**

 ***I do this so much in my advanced English class, my teacher wants to kill me most days.**

 ***At Honors Band this year I literally saw this giant dude playing a flute and it filled me with happiness, so here ya go.**


	13. Chapter 13

**TW: disordered eating, depressed thoughts, mild abuse**.

x

He didn't want to do this.

He couldn't be doing this.

Yet here Alex was, with his head hanging in the toilet for the third time this week.

He leaned forward and retched again, bile burning his throat.

"Alex?"

 _Shit._

Laf's voice sounded concerned, worry laced with hesitancy.

Alex got to his feet and wiped his mouth, then opened the stall door and stepped out. He knew he looked like shit- flushed face, watering eyes, dark bags underneath his eyes.

"I'm fine," Alex said, and began washing his hands. "I've just been feeling crappy for the past few days, and today I just felt really nauseous.."

He trailed off as Laf's eyes narrowed.

He didn't believe him.

"Don't tell John," Alex said quietly.

Laf frowned and opened his mouth, but Alex cut him off before he could say anything.

"Please, Laf. He has enough to worry about right now."

Laf seemed torn. He watched Alex carefully before sighing. "I won't tell John." Alex visibly relaxed. "Yet."

Now it was Alex who was watching.

Laf thought for a second before holding his hand out. "Give me your phone."

Alex dug into his pocket and unlocked his phone, then handed it to Laf, who typed something in before giving it back.

"There. I put my number in." Alex looked at him curiously.

"Next time you feel like this...call me. We can do something. D'accord?"

Alex slowy nodded. "Thanks."

They walked back to the commons, both silent. Alex sat down at the table and pulled out a granola bar out of his bag, obediently taking a bite. He could feel Laf's eyes on him, carefully watching out of the corner of his eye.

Alex finished his bar and cracked open his History textbook, keeping his eyes on the words instead of looking up at his friends.

The words were slightly blurry, and his throat was still burning a little bit. He stared at the paragraph for a bit before turning the page, trying to appear normal.

Everyone was studying, since midterms were bearing down on them, like a fire-breathing dragon ready to pounce.

Thanksgiving break started tomorrow-kicking off with John flying back to South Carolina. He was not looking forward to it...

"Just don't go," Alex had said, and John turned around. His suitcase was open on his bed, clothes neatly arranged with textbooks on top. "I have to go," he said "If I don't...I just have to go, okay?"

Alex nodded, seeing John's expression. He got up and hugged him. "I'm going to miss you so much."

John wrapped his arms around Alex, "I'm going to miss you too. But it's only for four days."

"Four days is too long."

"It'll be fine," John reassured him, "My grades are good, I'm doing what he wants, and he doesn't know about you."

"About me?"

"That we're dating, Alex."

"Oh, yeah."

"It'll be fine. And I'll call you when I can. I'll just write it off as making sure the turtle is okay if he asks."

Alex sighed, "I still don't know if I can keep that thing alive for that long."

John rolled his eyes and dug in his pocket, pulling out a piece of paper. "I made you a list of things to do for him. And Charlemange is not a thing, he is a beautiful majestic creature."

"That likes to eat textbooks."

"Yeah, that too. Don't let him near your book shelf."

John pulled on his coat, zipping it up. It was snowing outside, the first snow of the year, and Alex was half-heartedly hoping that the snow would cause John's flight to be delayed. But since it was only lightly coming down, he figured that his wish wasn't going to come true.

"Phone-where is my phone?" John muttered, patting down his pockets. Alex rolled his eyes and reached over, grabbing John's phone off of his desk. "Here," he said, and handed it to him.

"Thanks," John said, and his hand lingered on Alex's. He tightened his grip and pulled Alex in closer, until they were inches apart. John leaned down and kissed Alex, who felt like his knees were going to give out. He pulled back a little and looked up into John's eyes, whispering, "I'm going to miss you so much."

"I know," John murmured, and he leaned forward again-

The door burst open, hitting John in the back and sending both him and Alex crashing to the floor. Alex scrambled for a hold on the way down, reaching out and grabbing at his bedspread, which slid off the matteress and engulfed him and John, who hit his head on the bottom of the bed.

"Jesus Christ," John muttered, and he sat up, causing the comforter to fall back onto Alex. Alex clawed the blanket off of himself, gasping for air.

Laf and Herc were staring down at them from the doorway. "Why were you standing in front of the door?" Laf asked, and John glared.

"Why can't you ever knock?" he countered, and rubbed his head. "God, that hurt."

Alex tried to untangle himself out of the comforter and stood up, then promptly tripped and fell on his face. Laf snickered.

"We were coming over to say goodbye," Herc said, and John got up slowly, making sure that the comforter wasn't going to attack him again. He reached down and helped Alex up, then turned to Herc and Laf.

"I'm gonna miss all of you. Please make sure my boyfriend doesn't kill my turtle," John said, gesturing to Alex, who frowned.

"I won't kill him," Alex protested. "Probably."

John pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. "Okay, I have to go or I'm going to miss my flight." He leaned down and gave Alex a quick kiss, then grabbed his bag off of his bed and hugged Laf and Herc. "I'll call you when I get to my dad's house." John grinned at Alex and his friends, then headed down the hallway, turning at the stairwell.

Alex watched him go, feeling like the next four days were going to take forever.

He turned around and found Lafayette and Hercules watching him. Alex shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I'm going back to my room...I have to work on an essay..." Alex shuffled back into his room slowly. "I'll see you guys later, okay?"

He shut the door.

Alex plugged in his earbuds and sat down at his desk, then opened his laptop. It was quiet-a little too quiet. He already missed John, and the room felt emptier without him.

Alex cracked his knuckles, doing the stero-typical move that all writers do in movies. He always found that hilarious, because he rarely did that.

 _In correspondence to the current president's decision for border patrols stationed on the border between the United States and Mexico, along with the order for the patrols to be unarmed, I have come to the conclusion that this is once more a warning to the damage President Trump will inflict on our country. He has already made the moves to cut the ties with China, and this new decision is a very risky move for the economy of our country..._

Alex sat back, blinking. His eyes burned a little, and when he looked at the clock he realized why. He had been writing for almost three hours.

He got up and stretched, then turned to the little coffee maker that he had gotten from Goodwill. It really was small-it only held about four cups at a time. But Alex loved the thing-and he loved it even more because he got a tiny thrill of rebellion every time he used it. Why? Because it was totally illegal to use in his dorm.

Oh, well. He'd risk it.

Alex sighed and closed his laptop. He really needed to go and get something to eat. He hadn't eaten breakfast, since he'd been caught up in John leaving.

And now he was about to miss lunch-unless he could sprint to the cafeteria, which closed in two minutes. And was all the way across campus.

The coffee shop was his only option. Hopefully there wasn't any Jeffersons lurking.

Alex grabbed his jacket and a hat and switched off the coffee maker. There was no point in making any if he was going to be getting some in a few minutes.

It was freezing outside, in his opinion, but the other students seemed to be used to it. Even after four years in the States, Alex was determined to never get used to the stuff. It was freezing, wet, and somehow took absolutely forever to melt.

He shoved his phone into his pocket, pulled on shoes and made sure he had his keys. If he got locked out, there would be no John to open the door for him or lend him his extra key.

Before closing the door, Alex checked his phone for any texts. None-but maybe John was just too busy.

Right?

x

The snow was coming down heavier when John's plane touched down. It was pretty, but still thick. John stared out the window of the plane, a small feeling of dread growing in his stomach. He tired to reassure himself: it was would different this time. It would be better this time.

 _You say that every time._

The plane slowed to a stop, and John unbuckled his seat belt and reached up overhead, where his carry-on was. It was the only piece of luggage he usually carried. It was small, and light, and usually fit everything he needed. Plus it was easier to carry if he needed to leave quickly-which had happened before.

He walked out of the terminal and scanned the crowd, looking for his father. Henry Laurens was easy to spot-always neat, always precise, always business-like. And always very, very cold.

His dad was standing near one of the corridors that led to the elevators and stairs. He was, like always, dressed in a suit, with his iPhone in his hand, a bluetooth speaker clipped to his ear. His face was a mask-a carefully crafted mask, the perfect mix of passive emotions put together specifically for him and then plastered onto his face.

John walked up to him slowly. He had learned from years of experience not call out, or, God forbid, make his presence known.

Henry glanced up, then went back to his phone. "Ah. Jonathan. Yes, Clara is waiting outside." He turned and pressed the button for the elevator.

The ride down was silent-as was the ride back to his house, while their driver-Clara-carefully manuevered the snowy roads.

"It's really starting to storm," John said tenatively from the backseat, and his father grunted, not even looking up from the phone in his hand.

John stared out the window. God, he already missed Alex so much. His missed his friends. He knew that if they were riding with him they'd be having a constant stream of chatter-the perfect mix of arguments and conversation.

He checked his phone. Nothing from Alex, or Laf, or anyone.

Well, he couldn't call now. His dad would kill him, literally and figuritavely. And then Henry would have to murder poor Clara too, for witnessing John's death.

John slumped against the side of the car and looked out the window, watching the snow fall. It was gorgeous, but too cold. Just like his family.

"Jonathan. Posture," Henry snapped, and John quickly straightened up, mentally scolding himself.

 _You know better than that. You have to pay attention now. This is the type of behavior that gets you hit._

He felt the car turn onto a driveway-his driveway. Snow covered trees lined the gravel road, opening up to a beautiful gray mansion with more trees hiding it from the road. Senator Laurens wouldn't have common civilians gazing upon his masterpiece-this was only for the wealthy and the privileged.

The car rolled to a stop, and John opened the door and stepped out, gravel mixed with ice and snow crunching underneath his feet.

This was it.

He was in the lion's den now.

X

Alex stomped the snow off of his boots, then shut the door to his room. It really was freezing outside-barely thirty degrees.*

He set his coffee cup down on his desk and stripped off his coat and hat, hanging them back up on the hook on the door. He checked his phone again-silence.

Alex sat down at his desk and slowly spun around in the chair, finally coming to a stop in front of Charlemange's aquarium-or was it a tarraium? Alex didn't know, he never had had a pet.

The turtle blinked slowly at him, then took a slow bite of a piece of lettuce.

Alex checked his phone one more time. It had been a couple of hours- surely John's flight had touched down. Or what if the plane had crashed? What if the plane had crashed and John was hurt? Or worse, _dead_?

 _Jeez, Alex, calm down,_ he scolded himself. _John's probably fine. Just busy_.

But, just in case, Alex was going to call him.

X

John stepped into his room. It was untouched, other than the occasional cleaning by the weekly maid. A queen-sized bed with a brown plaid comforter was in one corner, with a book shelf next to it (Alex would be proud).

His desk sat in another corner, facing one of the windows, which overlooked the driveway. John set down his bag and walked over to the window, watching the flurries drift down. He turned away and opened the doors to the closet, taking his clothes out of the suitcase and hanging them up or folding them neatly.

He heard footsteps pounding the floor of the hallway, and in a second his door was flung open. Three eager faces peered up at John from the doorway, and he grinned.

"Dad didn't tell us when you were gonna get here!" exclaimed Martha, and she bounced into his room. The second oldest of the siblings, she was fourteen, while Henry Jr. was twelve, and John's other sister, Mary, was the baby of the family at eleven. Mary and Martha flopped onto John's bed, and Henry sat in the desk chair, while John continued to carefully hang up shirts. If they were wrinkled, his dad would be pissed.

"So what's college like?" Mary asked, cocking her head. John shrugged, "Lots of tests, lots of papers. My dorm rooms' pretty small, but I kinda like it. And my roommate's cool." He felt slightly guilty. Alex was more than a roommate. But nobody could know that until much later.

As though she had sensed it, Martha spoke up. "Are you still, you know," she fiddled with her hands, "gay?"

John focused on the hanging shirts. "Yes," he said carefully, "but Dad doesn't need to know that."

The siblings all nodded. They knew this drill already- secrets were a well-kept promise between all of them. John faced his younger brother and sisters, carefully scanning for any signs of his father's wrath.

Sure enough, a light purple bruise was fading on Martha's cheek. He quietly walked over and lightly touched it, pulling his hand away when she flinched back.

"What happened this time?" he asked softly, and she shrugged. "I wasn't being quiet enough at dinner. It was only a slap, it could have been worse."

John gritted his teeth. Martha was fourteen, too young to be dealing with this type of thing. They were all too young to be dealing with this.

John wished he was still living at home. When he had been here, it was him who took the brunt of attacks. He was always the one to jump in front of his siblings, always the one who took the punch, because otherwise it would be his baby brother and sisters who were getting bruised.

The speaker next to John's bed crackled. He hated that thing. It was loud, and annoying, and John was pretty sure the only reason his father had installed it was so that he could show it off to guests as a sign of wealth.

"Children, lunch is being served in the dining room." Henry's voice was emotionless. John internally sighed. He wasn't a child anymore. And anyways, while he was here, he had never been allowed to act like a child.

The siblings filed down the staircase, all silent. They came to the doorway of the dining room, which was probably the next biggest room in the house, other than the entry hall. The room held a table that could seat almost twenty people, which was great for when Henry hosted dinners.

Various pictures and art hung on the walls, all framed in elegant dark wood. A painting of the founding fathers signing the Declaration of Independence hung above the fireplace behind the table, and below that a framed picture of John's mother sat on the mantle. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail and her mouth open in a laugh.

John pulled out a chair and sat down, making sure to sit straight. He glanced at Martha, who was also adjusting her posture, while at the same time trying to make herself as small as possible.

Henry was sitting at the head of the table, papers and documents spread out before him. A pair of reading glasses were perched on his nose, and his ever-present phone lay face-down next to his hand.

One of the maids came in and set a plate down in front of John. The woman was quiet, like all the rest of the people who helped keep up the house. John's father had a strict rule that the help must not talk, unless spoken too or to clarify a order or ask a question.

"Thanks, Megan," John whispered, and she smiled at him before heading back into the kitchen. Martha, Henry Jr., and Mary all were served as well, and his father set down the paper he was reading. "Shall we say grace?" he asked, and the family bowed their heads.

This was one of the areas where John clashed with his dad. He believed in God, don't get him wrong, but he didn't know how much he _really_ believed at this point. In all honesty, John was a bit terrified of the thought of God, especially since he had gotten the idea of LGBTQ community going to hell shoved down his throat for his whole childhood.

John picked up his sandwich and took a bite, making sure not to put his elbows on the table. Martha was sitting stiffly, keeping her eyes down, while Henry Jr. was sullenly picking at his food. Mary was happily chomping away, oblivious to the tension in the room. John guessed that was the perk to being the youngest.

As though he had read John's mind, his dad looked up. "Mary, chew quieter please, dear," he remarked, looking over the tops of his glasses and giving her a disapproving look. Mary shrank a little bit in her seat and clamped her lips together. John wanted to reach over and slap his father.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence, with only the occasional sound of Henry flicking through papers to break it. John pushed his plate back slightly, and Megan swooped in gracefully to whisk it away to the kitchen.

John cleared his throat. "May I be excused?"

Henry sighed through his nose and looked up at John. "I would prefer that you partake in family activities, but since you've just returned from a harrowing flight, you probably need to rest. We'll call you at dinner."

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes and pushed his chair back. He walked out of the dining room and headed upstairs, shutting the door to his room as soon as he was inside.

He pulled out his phone and checked it. Alex had called three times.

 _John, it's me. Just checking to see if you were okay. Also, is Charlemange's thingie a terrarium or a tank? I'm kinda confused. Okay, just call me back whenever. Love you._

 _Hey, it's me again. Did your flight land safely? I'm getting worried, the snow's getting heavier outside and I really don't need a dead boyfriend. Please be safe. I love you. And if you die, I hope you know that I'm not adopting your turtle. I'm not good with living things. 'Kay. Love you. Bye. Call me._

 _Hey, it's me, and I really am getting worried? The weathermen are saying that the airports are shutting down from the storm. Be careful. I love you very much. Please call me._

John sighed. Alex was such a worrier. It was kind of cute, but also a bit worrisome when he over-thought things. He hit the call button next to Alex's name.

Alex picked up on the first ring. "Oh, my God, you're alive. I was so worried; do you know how much it's snowing here? Like, it's actually ridiculous, plus it's freezing, and it's really windy, so I was thinking that your plane crashed or something and-"

John cut him off. "Alex, I'm fine. My flight got in like two and a half hours ago, I just didn't have the time to call you yet. It's cool. I'm fine. Please stop worrying."

Alex breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, good. I'm glad you're safe." He paused. "How's your dad's, by the way?"

John glanced at the closed door, "Everything's already going to hell, honestly. I got here and my sister had a bruise on her cheek because she talked too loud at dinner one night. So, yeah, it's just great."

"Jesus Christ, John, I'm so sorry."

"It is what it is," he muttered.

"Yeah, but no kid should have to deal with that, no matter the age," Alex said, and John silently agreed.

"One of these days I'm going to be the one who hits him, and Lord help me, because shit's gonna hit the fan so fast your head'll spin," John said, and he sat down in his desk chair and spun it slowly in a circle. "I miss you so much right now, it's not even funny."

"I miss you too. It's really quiet here and I don't like it. And it's cold."

"What does being cold have to do with me?" John asked, and on the other end of the phone Alex shrugged. "I dunno, but it's cold and I don't like it."

John started laughing. "Well, it's cold here too, so don't worry." A knock sounded on his door, and John swore. "Shit, I gotta go. I'll call you later, okay? Love you."

"Love you too!" Alex said, and John hung up.

His door creaked open, and Martha and Mary barged in, once again jumping onto his bed and sprawling out. "Sure, make yourself at home," John sighed, and Mary giggled.

"So...who were you talking to?" Martha asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Just my roommate. He doesn't know how to take care of my turtle," John said casually, shrugging. Martha grinned, "And do you always tell your roommate that you love him?"

John blushed. She had him there.

"So who's the dude? And how long has this been going on?" Martha asked slyly, wiggling her eyebrows. John rolled his eyes and smiled. "His name's Alex. He actually is my roommate, so I wasn't lying about that. He's addicted to coffee, very short, and writes likes there's no tomorrow."

"And what's he majoring in?"

"English and Law."

"Ah, sophisticated," Martha said. "If he were a girl, he'd be everything Dad wanted for you."

John's smile fell. He knew that his dad would never support him. "Yeah, well, I'm not planning on telling Dad about him."

His sisters both nodded. They all had a collective agreement that no one talked about LGBTQ around their father.

"So is he gay or what?" Mary piped up, and John shook his head. "Nah, bi." Mary nodded.

"So how long have you guys been going out?" she asked. John shrugged, "Since September."

"Jeez, you jumped onto that wagon pretty quickly!" Martha teased, and John crumpled up a Post-It note and threw it at her.

She squealed and ducked out of the way, letting the Post-It fall between John's bed and the wall. He sighed, "Aw, look at that. I have to dig that up now." Martha started giggling.

John was happy he had made her smile.

X

Alex woke up gasping. It was the same dream as always: walking through the wrecked ruins of Nevis, finding bodies and wreckage everywhere. Except this time, it was John's body that he found in place of Isabel's.

He sat up in bed, shivering, and pulled the blanket tighter around around him. It was freezing in his room, but he couldn't tell if he was shaking because of his dream or the cold.

"Damnnit, Elijah," he muttered, and got up to start a cup of coffee, dragging his blanket with him. Elijah was their dorm advisor, a nice guy in his twenties, but he was constantly forgetting to turn the heat up, and Alex was at the end of his rope over it.

The coffee pot hissed and crackled, and soon the smell of fresh, delishious goodness filled the room. Alex poured himself a mug and sat in his desk chair. He didn't want to go back to sleep, but at the same time he didn't want to stay awake. He would lose, either way.

He missed John so much. If John was here, he probably wouldn't be panicking. If John was here, he probably wouldn't be having nightmares like this.

Alex raised the mug to his lips and blinked when he realized that he had drunk the whole cup. He did that sometimes; spaced out and forgot what he was doing. His therapist had called it dissasociating.

Alex set the mug down and got up, wandering over to John's bed. He was planning on stealing some blankets, at least until fucking Elijah remembered that other people lived here too, and that they were freezing their asses off, but John's bed was so soft. And it smelled like him. And it had that turtle pillow-pet thing propped in the corner that John practically strangled in his sleep.

Alex curled up in the pile of blankets, wrapping himself up in a blanket-burrito. At the last minute, he reached out and grabbed the pillow-pet, tucking it close to his chest.

He fell asleep breathing in John's scent.

X

John couldn't sleep.

It was quiet in his house, like usual. It had to be quiet for his father, who could hear a creak in a floor board all the way across the mansion, even when he was sleeping so soundly that he was practically knocked out.

John rolled over and stared out the window that was opposite his bed. It had stopped snowing, and now it was peaceful, with a white blanket stretched out across the lawn, like a fluffy white comforter. It would melt in a few hours, once dawn broke, like almost all the snow did in South Carolina. It never stayed for long.

He missed Alex. In their room, it would be pitch black, and the only sound would be from both of their computers whirring quietly as they charged on their desks. Alex would be curled up into a little ball on his bed, probably with his mouth open, a book lost somewhere between the covers, and John would be stretched out, practically hanging off the side of the bed (he didn't know why he did that, but he did).

He missed his turtle, and his friends, and he had only left that morning. He hated this house; it was so much different from their old one. This one was cold, and too big, and was like a museum: you can look however much you like, but don't touch anything.

In his old house, John had his room with fluctuating colors of blues and greens, and it felt like he was underwater. His mom had painted his room when he was little, and had added small artistic touches to it: a little flock of sea turtles swimming over the doors to his closet, a manta ray flying next to his desk, a tiny colony of coral clustered next to the baseboard.

And then she died, and his father made John paint his room white before putting the house up for sale. John had cried, even though he hadn't let his dad see it. He silently let tears drip down his face as he painted over the artwork his mom had handcrafted specially for him, just one more thing Henry Laurens was erasing from his children's memories.

His room here was white, too. John had barely bothered to decorate it, because what was the point? It would never be the same. Everything had changed.

He had his desk, and his bookshelf, and a corkboard with a few pictures stuck to it: him, Laf, and Herc, all grinning in their marching band uniforms, holding their instruments, John and his siblings, standing on the beach, with the waves crashing down behind them, John beaming so hard his face might crack open, standing proudly in front of a Phantom of the Opera poster from his ninth grade band trip.

There was one more photo: John and his mom, just a few months before she had died, both of them sitting on a tree branch at their old house, smiling at the camera. Out of all of his siblings, John was the one who looked the most like his mother. He had the same curly, exploding hair, the same freckles scattered in one giant constellation across his face and down his shoulders and back, the same amber eyes.

John missed his mom so much it hurt. She had been something amazing, and everyone had known it. When she walked into a room, it was like your eyes were drawn to her. She was magnetic.

If John's dad was the earth, then his mom had been the sun. Bright, shining, beautiful- everything revolved around her. Not because she demanded it, but because without her, there was no light, no happiness, no warmth.

But like every sun did, she had burned out.

And now there _was_ no light. No warmth. No happiness in his house.

Now it was just a cold, empty shell.

X

Alex woke up trapped in blankets.

It wasn't that bad of a situation, actually, other than the fact that someone was knocking on his door.

He struggled into a sitting postion, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. They got tangled in more blankets, and he fell to the floor with a thump.

Kicking off his attackers, Alex fumbled for his glasses and opened the door. Laf and Herc were both standing there, fully dressed, and Alex turned and looked at the clock on his desk.

It was 10 a.m. Oops.

"We were just checking to see if you were alive," Hercules said. "We haven't seen you come out of your room at all."

Alex yawned, "For the most part I was writing. And sleeping, surprisingly."

Laf frowned a little at the sleeping part, but didn't say anything about it. "Have you heard from John at all?"

"Yeah, he got in yesterday afternoon. Didn't he call you guys?"

Herc and Laf both shook their heads. "Non, he didn't," Laf said. "But we already had orders to check and see if you had killed his turtle yet," he added jokingly, and he peeked over Alex's shoulder to look at Charlemange, who was relaxing underneath his heat lamp.

"Nope, the turtle is alive and moving, the last I checked," Alex reassured him. "Now I just have to keep it that way." Laf and Herc both smiled.

"Well, we were thinking about kicking off break by going to Perkins, what do you think?" Herc asked, and Alex struggled to keep his face passive. "Yeah, sure. Just let me get dressed." Laf was watching him closely, and Alex made an effort to smile before he closed the door.

He got dressed in what he usually wore: jeans and a sweatshirt, converse, with his hair in a careless bun. After once again checking to see if Charlemange was indeed breathing, he grabbed more lettuce out of the mini-fridge and put in into the tank, then pulled on his coat and made sure he had his keys and wallet, along with his phone.

Alex met Lafayette and Hercules downstairs at the doors to the dorm, where the sun was shining brightly, glinting off of the two inches of snow they had gotten. It was warm out, though, so Alex was sure that it would melt soon. At least, he hoped it would melt soon.

They all piled into Hercules' truck ("Why do you need a truck?" Alex asked, and Herc shrugged), and Laf and Herc bickered over what to change to the station to on the radio. Alex didn't care, as long as it wasn't country music. He despised country music.

Herc ended up winning the argument ("My truck, my rules," he said, and Laf had scoffed. "This isn't a truck, it's a rusting piece of metal held together with duct tape!"), so now there was classical music being blared over the speakers, and the only thing Alex knew about it was that it was by Bach.

They pulled into the Perkins parking lot, and Herc jumped out, grinning. "Pancakes," he said, "I love pancakes." Laf rolled his eyes but smiled.

They got a booth, and Alex fiddled with his phone while Herc and Laf decided what to get. No texts from John. They hadn't talked since last night.

"Alex?"

Alex looked up. Their waiter was standing there, with her pencil poised over the notepad. He stammered something about a Belgian waffle and a water, and then she left, leaving a laughing Herc and Laf in her wake.

"Distracted?" Herc asked gently, and Alex shrugged. "Just worried about John."

They chattered mindlessly while waiting for their food, but Alex wasn't really paying attention. He felt like everybody was watching him, judging him.

Eventually the waiter was back, and Alex picked at his waffle half-heartedly, feeling Laf's eyes flicker back and forth to him the entire time. He ate enough to satisfy his friends, then pushed the plate back. He couldn't wait to just go back to his dorm and write, where there wasn't people pressing in on him from all sides.

They paid, and then got into Herc's truck, where it was Laf's turn to pick the music. He switched the station to something that was some type of hip-hop, and Hercules refused to turn the music up, proclaiming that he wasn't going to turn his car into "a beat-bopper."

Laf offered to let Alex pick the station, but he politely reclined, saying that he didn't really care about what song they were listening too. He rested his head against the window, and the cool surface felt nice against his forehead. He could feel the beginnings of a headache forming, like a storm brewing inside his skull.

They got back to the dorms, and Laf let Hercules go into their room first, pulling Alex aside.

"Hey, vous allez bien?" _Hey, are you okay?_

Alex shrugged, "Ouais, juste fatigue. J'ai mal a la tete." _Yeah, just tired. I have a headache._

Lafayette's eyebrows came together in concern. "D'accord, eh bien, va dormir. Se sentir mieux." _Okay, well, go get some sleep. Feel better._

Alex nodded and smiled tiredly. He felt bad for Laf-he was so worried about Alex.

 _You're just another burden for people-another chore for them to take care of._

Alex squeezed his eyes shut. He really needed to stop thinking like that.

He got out his keys and unlocked his room, hanging up his coat and making sure that Charlie was still breathing. He checked his phone.

And then he went into the bathroom, feeling like a failure.

X

John was lounging around on his bed, stuck in his room, when Henry Jr. came running in. He was white, freckles standing out against his skin, breathless from the sprint up the expansive staircase.

"Dad's at it with Martha again."

John was up and off the bed in an instant, leaving his brother standing in his room, racing down the stairs so fast he almost fell on his face.

Sure enough, Henry's low growl could be heard from his office down the hallway. John opened the door to reveal his dad standing at his desk, red in the face, staring down a cowering Martha.

"Why can't you just do what I ask of you Martha?" Henry exclaimed, and Martha seemed to draw into herself. "I do, Dad, I just can't-"

"Don't you dare talk back to me!" Henry snarled.

"Dad-" She pleaded.

Henry raised his hand and John flung himself between his father and sister, reaching up and grabbing Henry's hand. Henry glowered down at his son, then wrenched his arm away, flinging John against the wall. The back of his head caught on the corner of a painting, sending a stabbing pain through his skull.

John pushed himself to his feet blindly, grabbing Martha's wrist and dragging her with him into the hallway, not failing to notice the half-drunk glass of Scotch sitting on his father's desk.

His sister was crying, tears slipping down her face as she tried to keep quiet. John pulled her into a bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind him.

"It's gotten worse, huh?"

She hiccuped and nodded. Crying wasn't permitted by John's dad; in his eyes, it was seen as a weakness.

John sighed and brought his hand to the back of his head. He could already feel a bump forming, and it hurt like hell.

 _When was this ever going to stop?_

"Has he hit Mary yet?" John asked, and Martha hesitated before nodding again. John gritted his teeth-tiny Mary, who barely weighed ninety pounds and was about four-foot-eleven, who trapped spiders in cups and released them back outside, who had once convinced John to climb up the thirty-foot pine in the front yard to put a fallen baby bird back into it's nest; gentle Mary, who was getting beaten for nothing.

John ran his fingers through his hair, trying to come up with a game plan. He had nothing-he was about four hours away at school, and no one would believe that Senator Laurens, whose autobiography crooned about how much he loved his family, was beating his kids.

"John, it's okay," Martha said shakily. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. "It's only a few more years until I go to college, and then Henry, and then Mary. It'll be okay."

She shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't be the one comforting John, it should be the other way around.

John pulled his sister into a hug. "Only a few more years," he promised.


	14. Chapter 14

**You've all waited waaay too long for this. I apologize. Notes at the end.**

X

Alex couldn't breath.

Rain drummed on the roof of the dormitory, sounding like bullets against the brick. It lashed at the windows, splattering droplets and running in streams down the glass, making rivers and pooling on the ledge.

Thunder cracked like a whip, making him jump. The room was already wavering, warping and distorting in front of his eyes.

 _Okay Alex, you've done this before. Breath. Count. You're okay._

But the only thing he could think of was the water filling his mouth and nose and the fact that he's so tired and he doesn't want to keep doing this anymore, he wants to just let go and drown because he's tired of reliving this memory every goddamn time it fucking rains.

He was currently crouched between the wall and his desk, curled into a ball, his hands clutching at his hair, all-too aware of how stupid and pathetic he looked.

Alex sucked in a breath, air rattling in his lungs, dimly hearing the sound of a door opening and footsteps resounding across the floor.

Someone was kneeling in front of him, talking in a french accent. Lafayette. Laf was here, Laf was talking, except Alex couldn't understand anything over the buzzing in his ears.

"Alexander, you're okay. Breathe, Alex, just breathe," Laf said, and Alex shook his head. "Can't," he gasped, and Laf took Alex's hand and put it on his chest. "Yes, you can," he said firmly. "See? Focus and try to match my breathing." He took a breath and exaggerated the motion of his rib cage, and in the back of his head Alex admired his friend for being so calm.

Alex put his head on his knees, shaking, and tried to focus on something, anything, to stop the world from spinning. Everything was spiraling, he was falling through a tunnel, the water was so loud-

Distantly, through the static in his head, he felt something squeezing his hand, and then Laf asked, "Alex, do you want me to call John?"

A fresh wave of panic washed over him. "No," he choked, "no, don't call John, don't-" _John has enough problems, you're one of those problems, god you're so weak, Jesus Christ, stop being a burden._

"Okay," Laf soothed, "You're okay, you're fine."

"I'm sorry," Alex sobbed, and Laf's eyebrows scrunched down. "It's not your fault, Alex, you can't control this-"

"If I was stronger-"

"No, don't...that's not the problem-"

"If I wasn't so stupid-"

"No-"

"I'm sorry-"

"Alex, stop." Laf said sharply, and Alex looked up. Laf's eyes locked with his. "You. Can't. Control. This. Okay? You went through a traumatic event that wasn't your fault, stop blaming yourself. You're going to be alright."

Alex nodded faintly and wheezed a little. His eyes started to glaze over, drifting away from Laf's.

"Alex," he warned, and he squeezed Alex's hand. "Stay here, Alex. You can't dissociate. You have to stay with me."

Alex blinked, and he looked back at Laf, but Laf could tell he wasn't really there.

"Alex, tell me five things you know."

"...What?"

"C'mon, Alex, five things you know. It can be random; something simple."

Alex closed his eyes. Tried to claw his way back to reality. "John is my boyfriend."

"Good, four more," Laf encouraged.

"Charlie is a red-eared slider."

"Three."

"A shape with 99 sides is called an enneacontakaienneagon."

Laf snorted a little, "How is that random or simple?"

A wavering hint of a smile fought it's way onto Alex's face. "The 256th note is called the demisemihemidemisemiquaver."

"Where are you learning all of this? One more to go."

"John's favorite musical is Phantom of the Opera."

Laf nodded, "Good. That was great, Alex. Okay, tell me four things you can see."

Alex looked around, trying to focus. "Charlie's tank. The desk. John's pillow pet. You."

"Three things you can feel."

"The floor. The wall." Alex's grip tightened. "Your hand."

"Now, two things you can hear."

"My laptop charging." He shuddered slightly, "The rain."

"And one thing you can smell," Laf said, and Alex wrinkled his nose the tiniest bit. "Herc's cologne that he loves but everyone else hates."

Laf held in a smile and rocked back on his heels, still holding onto Alex's hand. "You okay?"

Alex nodded shakily, and Laf let go of his hand and stood up slowly. "Do you want anything?"

"Water," Alex whispered, and Laf headed off to the bathroom, the floor creaking slightly underneath his feet.

The rain was petering to a stop now, and Alex could barely hear it anymore, which was a relief.

He took off his glasses and put his head in his hands, kneading his temple. His head hurt-a side affect of the panic attack. Or the rain. He didn't even know at this point. It seemed like his head was always hurting nowadays.

The of the water running in the bathroom abruptly shut off, and the floorboards creaked again as Laf made his way back over to Alex, water in hand.

Alex felt himself take the glass, the cup cool against his skin, which felt unnaturally hot. He still felt like complete shit, but he shoved down the anxiety that was trying to crawl it's way back up his throat. He'd deal with that later.

"So," Laf said conversationally. "Storms, huh?"

Alex nodded, took a sip of water, and then set the glass on the desk. He heaved himself up off the floor, using the wall as a support, and nudged his way past Laf to his desk chair, almost collapsing into it. Laf took the chair opposite him and spun it around slowly, then stopped once he had made a full circle.

"A hurricane almost completely destroyed my island in the Carribbean when I was a kid," he said carefully, and Laf nodded. "I know. John asked us to keep an eye on that. I figured that something like this would happen eventually."

Alex inwardly groaned. Great. Now his boyfriend was asking people to babysit him. Wonderful.

"C'mon," Laf said, pushing himself out of the chair, and Alex looked up at him, a quizzical expression on his face.

"Let's go," Laf repeated, rolling his eyes, and he grabbed Alex's hand, hauling him out of the chair.

"Laf, I don't want to go anywhere," he protested, and Laf pulled him forward. "Well, that sucks. You are in dire need of a Marvel movie."

"Huh?"

"You know, the Avengers? Hulk, Ironman, Black Widow? Who, by the way is a complete badass," he added, tugging Alex towards the door.

"I know what Marvel is," Alex muttered, stumbling along, "I really don't want to go to a movie theater right now."

"Good. 'Cause we're not. Herc has all the movies and I have a t.v., which I'm pretty sure is illegal here, so don't tell anyone," Laf said, winking.

Alex cast one last longing look around his room before letting himself be dragged across the hallway, where Hercules was lounging on his bed, reading a book. He looked up, seemingly surprised to see Alex alongside Laf, and put his book down. "What's up?"

"Alexander is in desperate need of a Marvel movie," Laf said, letting go of Alex and shutting the door. Herc's eyes swept over Alex, taking in the bags underneath his eyes and the exhausted look on his face, but he made no comment, which Alex was grateful for.

"Iron Man 1?" Herc asked, getting up off the bed, and Laf scoffed. "Duh. It's the start of the whole series."

Five minutes later Laf and Herc were relaxing on their beds, while Alex lay on the floor, curled up in a blanket. Laf had shut all the lights off, so the only the light was the glow of Laf's (probably illegal) t.v.

"Wait...So Pepper's Tony's full-time assistant? Like, she lives with him?" Alex asked in a hushed whisper, and Herc nodded, eyes still locked on the screen.

"Yeah, but later on-" Laf started excitedly, only to be cut off as Herc chucked a pillow at him. "Don't spoil it!" He hissed, and Laf clamped his mouth shut, a sheepish look on his face.

X

About half-way through the second Iron Man movie, Herc's phone started ringing. He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen, confusion written all over his face.

Without saying anything, he got up and went into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. Laf watched him, puzzled, and then shrugged and went back to the movie.

Alex could hear Herc's muffled voice through the door, but he couldn't make out any specific words. The only thing that he could tell was that Hercules was upset.

Chalking it up to a family thing, he went back to watching the movie, just in time to see Tony Stark sitting in the middle of a donut above a restaurant.

The door opened behind him, flooding the room with the light from the hallway, and Alex squinted at the sudden brightness. When his vision adjusted, he looked up at Hercules, who had an odd expression on his face-a mix between fear and anger, with confusion throw into the mix.

Laf glanced up from the bed, "What's wrong?"

Herc looked back down at his phone before meeting Alex's eyes.

"John's in the hospital."

X

Thanksgiving day was hell.

First off, Henry was being nice.

Too nice.

 _Suspiciously_ nice.

He smiled at the kids, offered to help Clara with serving, and tried to get John to talk about politics, which John was having none of for obvious reasons.

The dining room had been decked out for the occasion: a bright red tablecloth with intricately sewn autumn leaves in varying shades of gold, ruby, and amber, plates edged with gold leaf, the chandelier above the table freshly polished and turned to full brightness, so that the hand-cut crystal gleamed.

John hated every bit of it.

It was too overdone; in all honesty, he would rather be back at the dorms with his friends eating horribly dry turkey and mushy cranberries from the cafeteria instead of having to deal with this madness.

Clara brought the food out on fancy plates and platters, delicately setting them down on the table, where already empty glasses, plates, and bowls lay waiting to be filled.

Henry invited everyone to sit, and then led them in saying grace, which John sat uncomfortabley through, before finally letting Clara cut the turkey.

John piled food onto his plate, hoping that if he ate quickly enough, he could escape back to his room.

Evidentely destiny had other plans.

"So, Johnathan. Have you found any girls yet?" Henry asked innocently, and the entire room seemed to freeze in anticipation of what would happen next.

John cleared his throat. "Nope, no girls just yet," he said lightly, and glanced up at his father, whose expression was now hardening.

"John, I hope that you haven't kept up with this...this _phase_." He spat the last word as though it were foul.

John quietly sighed through his nose and tried to control his temper, which was flaring up rather quickly. "It's not a phase, Dad, and, yes, I still like men. Quit beating around the bush."

"Johnathan, why can't you just settle? What about that Margarita girl, Senator Schuyler's daughter, the one on the art scholarship? You two get along well, you'd be a great couple."

John wrinkled his nose. _Peggy? But Peggy's gay. Gay. Gaaaaaaay._

 _And I like Alex. I don't want to be with some random girl._

He slowly shook his head. "No, sorry, Dad. I like guys." He looked back down at his plate, where his food was growing cold.

A crash startled him, and John looked up. Henry's face was bright red, and it looked liked he had smashed his drink on the ground, shattering the expensive crystal tumbler on the hardwood. Mary was shaking in her seat, eyes wide as saucers, while both Henry Jr. and Martha were deathly still, coiled like springs in their chairs, so that if they needed to run, they could.

"I will not have a queer in my household," Henry hissed, and he shoved back his chair, the legs squeaking in protest.

John calmly set his fork down. "Well, we've all known that you're going to disown me at one point, so why not get a kickstart on that, huh?"

That wasn't the smartest thing to say, but John had never been known to keep his mouth shut.

Henry shot up, knocking the chair over. "You will not talk to me that way in my house!" He thundered, and before he knew it, John was standing too.

"This isn't a house!" He yelled back. "This is your stupid trophy for being in the Senate! None of us like it here! We hate it!"

His sibling's eyes were darting back and forth frantically between them, as though this were some strange, dangerous tennis match to the death.

Henry narrowed his eyes at John. "Get out," he snarled. "Get out!"

"Gladly," John said coldly, and he stalked out of the dining room, up the stairs, and into his room, where he started blindly shoving clothes haphazardly into his suitcase.

He zipped it shut, and grabbed his laptop and his phone, before taking one last look around his room. He probably wouldn't be coming back here, but there wasn't really anything that he wanted.

Wait, no. That wasn't true.

He snatched the pictures of his mom and the ones from marching band, slipping them into the front pocket of his suitcase, and shut off the light, closing the door behind him.

Henry was waiting at the top of the stairs, looking just a tad bit like a madman. "Don't think about coming back," he said, and John scoffed.

"Don't worry, I don't want my queer ass tainting your homophobic household. Have fun in hell, asshole."

Hands met his chest, and John had a sudden moment of clarity, time slowing down so that he could appreciate the vein popping out of his father's forehead, and the way his eyes had a crazed look in them, like he had finally gone off the deep end.

And then he was falling, and pain was shooting it's way up his wrist like a lightning bolt, zapping upwards from his palm to his elbow, almost feeling like he had hit his funny bone at the wrong angle. Someone was screaming his name in the background, a shrill screech that hurt his ears, and his head slammed into something very, very solid.

Then everything went black.

X

 **Oooh, cliffhanger. I'm such an evil author.**

 **First of all: ALL OF THESE REVIEWS. WTF, THANK YOU! I CANNOT BELIEVE ALL OF THE AMAZING NOTES THAT YOU GUYS HAVE LEFT ME.**

 **So this took forever to write, which is honestly pathetic, considering how short it is, but at least it's something, right? I'm super busy right now, but I get like no sleep, so there's time to write at night :)**

 **I'm doing better, I finally got put on some new meds last week, so that's good, I guess. The only downside is that they give me headaches, which my doctor warned me was a side affect, but they come out of nowhere and feel like someone whacked me upside the head with a sledgehammer.**

 **I finally got some shit in order for this fic, yay! I have everything planned out, which is a relief. I hate being unorganized**

 **(that's so fucking ironic, because my room's a mess).**

 **I hope you guys are good! More chapters are coming soon :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**TW: panic attack, mentions of** **abuse**

They were four hours into the eleven hour drive and Alex was brooding.

Well, not brooding, exactly. He was scared, and worried, and annoyed at traffic, and had a ball of anxiety tucked up underneath his ribs like some wriggling knot of worms.

He was sitting in the back of Laf's car (because it got better gas mileage than Herc's rusty tin can, Laf had argued), and Alex had been doing everything to keep himself entertained and distracted. None of it was really working.

He tapped his fingers impatiently on his knee, watching cars pass from the window. "Can we go any faster?" he pleaded, and Laf glanced up to look at him in the rearview mirror.

"Trust me, Alex, I'm trying. But if we get pulled over, that's just going to take even longer."

It was logic, but Alex wasn't happy with it. John could be dying-the hospital hadn't said anything, only that there had been an accident and they were in his emergency contacts.

"How about you try and get some sleep?" Hercules suggested, and Alex snorted under his breath. He knew that that was futile, no way was he going to be able to sleep like this.

He already had basically permanent dark circles underneath his eyes, and he knew that he looked bad-like some sort of sleep-deprived college kid.

Oh, wait.

At least he had brought the essentials in his flurry of stuffing things into his suitcase. Some books, a notebook, and, as always, his laptop. He needed some semblance of normal on this trip.

Maybe Herc was right. Maybe he should try and get some sleep.

He pulled out his earbuds and popped them in his ears, closing his eyes and leaning back, letting the motion of the car lull him to sleep.

X

Surprisingly, he slept almost the entire ride. He finally woke up when they were pulling into the parking lot of the hotel where Laf had booked a room.

"Um...why aren't we at the hospital?" Alex asked groggily, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. He sat up and yanked the earbuds out of his ears, wrapping them up and stuffing them into his pocket.

"Because some of us actually need to sleep. It's ten at night. We don't all run on coffee and stubborness," Laf joked, putting the car in park and stretching. Alex sighed. Now that he had taken a nap, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep that night. Whatever. At least he could get in some decent writing in.

They checked in at the front desk, then dragged their stuff into the elevator, where Laf proceeded to start falling asleep against the wall and Herc had to nudge him awake.

When Alex opened the door to their room, Laf immediately tossed his suitcase down and flopped onto one of the queen sized beds, letting out a small groan.

Alex smiled a little and dropped his suitcase next to the other bed, pulling out his laptop and plugging it in on the desk. Hercules had already laid down next to Laf and turned on the tv, flipping the channel to the National Geographic network, making himself at home on the bed while Laf started snoring.

Pulling out pajama pants and an old t-shirt, Alex mad his way into the small bathroom and changed, then came out to see Laf snuggling up to Hercules like a giant french koala. Alex suppressed a smile and got into his bed, plugging his earbuds into his phone and popping them into his ears.

Time for another sleepless night.

X

The next morning they took the shuttle from the hotel to the hospital, and as soon as they walked through the doors, Alex started freaking out.

He hated hospitals, especially since what had happened when he was 15. Beeping machines crowded the hallways. The sharp antiseptic smell filled his nose. Fragments of images and memories flashed before his eyes. Stitches, blood, concerned doctors, disappointed foster parents-

He couldn't breathe.

 _No, no, nononono not now, please, no, John needs me-_

Alex's thoughts were scattering away as he felt panic crash over him in waves, drowning out the sounds in the hallway.

 _Runrunrun, get away, have to get away, too many memories, can't breathe, shitshitshitSHIT-_

Alex was aware of what felt like a burst of numbness explode outward in his chest, spreading to throughout his body. He couldn't feel his fingertips. He couldn't feel anything.

"Laf-" He gasped, and Laf turned around. His eyes widened. "Alex, what's wrong?"

"I don't-I can't-" _Sirens. Razor. Scared faces. Pain, pain, pain, he was dying, can't breathe, can't feel, John's dying and it's all your fault-_

He felt hands grab his shoulders and steer him somewhere, felt his feet tripping over each other. Voices were breaking through the static in his head, muttering vaguely, jamming together with the white noise flooding his ears."Alex, you need to breathe, okay?" Someone was talking, but Alex didn't know who. It was like he was completely disconnected, like the chord grounding him to the world had been yanked out of circuit.

White walls swam in front of his eyes, blurring together in one fuzzy mass, and then a person bobbed within his vision, the sketchy outline of a brown frizzy ponytail and a dark face. Alex blinked- or at least he tried to. Were his eyes open or closed? What was happening? Was he dying? He was dying. No, maybe he was already dead. Was he already dead?

He felt his knees give out. The hands were back, catching his arms and leaning him against something. Alex felt himself slide sideways, and someone propped him back up, saying, "Hey, Alex, don't do that, you'll hit your head."

What did that mean? What was going on? He sucked in a breath, feeling like his throat was closing up, and brought his hand up to the collar of his shirt. It was too hot, too tight. He couldn't breathe through the fabric surrounding him, it was clouding up the inside of his head-

"Alex, breathe, you can't start hyperventilating or that'll make it worse," someone said. It was a different person than last time, their voice was deeper, calmer. Soothing.

He managed to gasp through the cotton filling up his throat, sucking in as much air as he could. Nausea swirled in his stomach and he doubled over, curling into a ball, trying to not retch.

"Whoa, Alex, hey-" hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him upwards to avoid hitting the ground. The motion jolted his stomach, making him gag, and the voice swore. "Shit, okay, hang on-"

Then he was in front of a toilet, with no idea how he got there, and the feel of the porcelain was cool against his hands as he crashed to his knees and threw up. A hand was rubbing his back in soothing circles, and someone said, "You're okay Alex, this'll be over soon. Everything's going to be okay."

He finally stopped throwing up, felt his nose burn from the bile and smell of cleaners. His view of the toilet beneath him was spotted with black, and he shut his eyes for a second, feeling dizzy. Someone gently pried his hand open and put a wad of toilet paper in it, and he wiped it across his mouth, trying to get rid of the bitter taste that was coating it.

He kept his eyes closed, because whenever he opened them, the world started spinning.

Slowly, very slowly, everything came to a halt. The ground stopped wavering, the steel band around his chest started loosening it's grip, his stomach settled. Alex opened his eyes and blinked, taking a small breath. He didn't feel like he was going to puke anymore, but at the same time he didn't know if he could stand or not. Panic was still spiking through his body, running like razors through his blood, but it was managable. Now he was just tired more than anything, and all he wanted to do was lay down and take a nap.

"You okay?"

Alex turned around slowly, not trusting his head or stomach, and slumped against the toilet. He shrugged and avoided Laf's eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered, and both Lafayette's and Hercules' eyebrows furrowed. "Why are you sorry, Alex? It's a reaction, it's not your fault."

"Yes, it is my fault!" Alex burst out suddenly, anger surging up faster than he could think. "This is supposed to be about John, and now it's about me. I can't even walk into a building without freaking out." He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, trying to block

everything out. Laf and Herc exchanged glances over his head.

"Let's just go see John, okay?" Alex said after a moment, and he stood up shakily.

He shove his way out of the bathroom, willing his legs to move, even though they felt like concrete blocks. He was tired, so, so _tired_. But it was fine. He had been worst than this at multiple points in his life and still kept running. It was fine.

After what felt like an eternity, they found John's room. Alex stopped outside of it, staring at the door, before Herc gently pushed past him and opened it.

John was laying on a bed, with a bulky black splint around his right wrist and a black eye. He glanced up from the book he was reading and locked eyes with Alex, surprise spreading over his face.

"Well, you look like shit," Alex said before he coud stop himself, and then mentally started beating the crap out of his brain for having no filter.

John snorted, "I wouldn't be the one talking." His eyes scanned Alex, taking in his pale face and slightly sunken cheeks, noticing the way that his clothes seemed a little baggier than last week, the way his wrist bones were so small he could probably wrap his hand around them and have his fingers overlap.

"I'm not the one in a hospital bed," Alex retorted, and John smiled a little. "You got me there." He scooched over and patted the empty bed next to him. "Come here, it's free real estate."

Herc groaned from the door. "Don't worry everyone, he's fine if he's quoting vines."

Alexn climbed over the bed railing and curled up, trying not to remember the last time he was in a hospital bed. "What happened?" He whispered, and John didn't say anything.

"John, what happened?" He said more forcefully, and John sighed.

"I fell down the stairs, okay? It was an accident," he said, meeting Alex's eyes.

"You're lying," Alex said bluntly, and John looked away.

"John. What. Happened."

"We got in a fight, okay?" John blurted. "And he pushed me. I was standing at the top of the staircase, and..." he lifted his hand with the splint. "Early Christmas present, I guess."

"Wait," Herc interjected, "do you mean the giant-ass staircase in the front hall?"

John nodded, "That's the one."

"Jesus Christ," Herc breathed, and Laf started angrily muttering in french.

"It's fine, guys," John reassured them, and Herc stared at him. "John. Are you hearing yourself? You are in a hospital. This has to stop. Immediately."

"He's right," Alex said, and John sighed.

"Well...He's disowning me. So I guess I don't have to worry about it anymore." John nodded to a stack of papers on the counter. "Got the forms this morning. So that's fun."

Alex's jaw dropped. "Jesus, John. I'm so sorry."

John shrugged it off, "Doesn't matter. I'm just worried about my siblings. I don't know what's going to happen to them."

"We'll firgure it out," Laf assured him, and Hercules and Alex nodded in agreement.

"But the good news is that I can go home today if I want!" John said, trying to change to mood, and Alex smiled. "Good, I don't think I could deal with your turtle for any longer."

"I don't think he can deal with you for any longer either," John said, smirking, and Alex glared. "We can leave you here, you know," he warned, and John wrapped his good arm around him.

"I'll take my chances."


	16. PSA-update warnings

This is probably going to turn into a vent, just a warning. Sorry.

So.

I haven't been updating that much for various reasons.

Yes, my mental health has played a role in that, but at the moment I am extremely busy.

My mom has something called Polycystic Kidney disease and Polycystic Liver disease.

What do those fancy words mean, you may ask.

It means that my mom has cysts growing in her kidneys and liver. They make it hard for her to do a lot of things, especially since some of them are almost the size of a tennis ball.

My dad died when I was really little, and my mom never re-married, so it's just me and her. We live on a farm in Podunk, USA, in the middle of nowhere. There's cows, corn, and Dairy Queens as far as the eye can see.

Yeehaw, y'all.

We train, exercise, and rehab horses, plus compete in local shows and on my school's equestrian team. We throw 75 pound hay bales and toss 50 pound feed sacks, pitch stalls, clean water tanks, you name it, we do it.

Wait, no.

 _I_ do it.

A few months ago the hospital told my mom that she can't do that much twisting, bending, or stretching, because any of that could rupture the cysts that are growing inside her.

Which means, no doing any of the chores listed above.

I have been running our _entire farm_ since the beginning of April or so.

 **This is my current, up-to-date schedule:**

 ** _Get up at 5:30 Am_** _. Feed the horses, muck out stalls, feed cats and dogs. Make lunch, wake my mom up, get dressed, drag my tired, sorry ass to school, where I also play Jazz band from 7:25 to 7:50 AM on Thursday mornings._

 _After school I have dance team from 3:30 to 5:30 PM. Then I either play at pep band or run the concession stand for band at volleyball games (or sometimes both.) Otherwise I go home and_ ** _exercise/train 2 to 7 horses._**

 _Feed the horses, give them medicine if they need any, muck out stalls again, clean out water tanks if needed. Feed the dogs and cats, sometimes make dinner, do house chores._

 ** _(By now it's about 9 at night.)_**

 _Stretch for dance team. Do my homework. A lot of the time I do my homework in the splits to improve my flexibility and save time._

 _Let the horses out of their stalls for the night. Take a shower. Do any more homework that needs to be done. Work on my fic for this place._

 ** _I finally go to bed at about 12:30 or 1 in the morning._**

That is my schedule. I get no breaks. There is no one else to do this for me. I am completely on my own.

On top of all of this (oh yes, there's more), my best friend is extremely depressed and almost suicidal. She has a hard home life and her parents don't really care about what she does. They do, however, expect her to run their farm and pay their bills (they also train and raise horses).

I have been helping take care of her since last year. I make sure she eats, gets her homework done, doesn't go out and drink, and that she talks to me if she needs help. She's been kicked out of her house a few times and almost had to live at ours. At this point I'm basically her parent.

She is almost 18. I am 15 years old.

This is a lot to handle at my age. Please don't get mad at me because I'm not updating. I've seen a couple of nasty reviews that are complaining about how I don't update that often, and I get it, I really do. But I do have more important things going on than this fic.

 _(To those who have been leaving happy and supportive reviews-I love you more than you could know)_

This does not in any way mean that I am going to stop updating. It means that I won't be able to update _as much._ I love writing this story and I love posting chapters and seeing you all get excited.

Thank you for understanding. Again, I'm sorry.

-WroteMyOwnDeliverance

 **Tumblr:** wrote-my-own-deliverance

 **Insta:** iksnyzsak

 **Snapchat** : private message me. I'm not stupid enough to put that shit out on the internet. Sorry, y'all.

 _To everyone who has been catching my Harry Potter and Love, Simon references, good job! Keep your eye out for more ;)_


	17. Chapter 16

**Okay. Wow.**

 **The outreach of love that you've shared amazes me. Thank you so much you guys, I love and appreciate you all so much. I can't believe how many people commented and messaged me, I'm speechless.**

 **Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.**

X

John was home.

And it was amazing.

Alex no longer felt the need to write constantly. He ate and slept and did things fairly normally, all while taking care of the things that John couldn't do in a splint.

"I can't type," John growled from his position at his desk chair, and Alex sighed. John had been grumbling all afternoon about how horrible midterms were going to be thanks to his injuries.

After a few more minutes Alex heard John close his laptop on frustration. He swiveled around in his chair and gazed sympathetically at his boyfriend.

"I'm sure your professors will give you an extension," he said in reassurance, and John ran his fingers through his hair. He had taken it out of it's ponytail, and it was curling in soft cinnamon waves around his shoulders, almost the same color as the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose.

"I give up. I'm going to bed," he said grumpily, and shoved out of his chair and riffled through the bin underneath his bed for pajamas before heading into the bathroom for a shower.

Alex was still writing 20 minutes later when arms curled around him from behind. "You should get some sleep," John said softly, and Alex reluctantly closed his laptop. "But I don't want to," he whined, and John smirked. "I will let you sleep with Matilda," he said invitingly, and Alex pushed past him to claim the turtle pillow pet.

"She's mine now," he said, and clutched the stuffed animal to his chest.

x

Alex woke up to sound of a phone ringing.

He groggily rolled over, still three-quarters of the way asleep, and peered sleepily at his alarm clock. It read 12:31 Am. He closed his eyes and went back to bed, chalking it up to the neighbors next door.

x

He woke up again more than half an hour later, somehow startled awake. He sat up, peering around, and noted that John's bed was empty. Another glance told him that the bathroom was closed and light was seeping out from the crack at the floor.

"John?" he muttered, and stumbled out of bed, almost face planting over a pair of socks haphazardly strewn across the floor.

He pushed open the bathroom door, rubbing his eyes, and blinked at the bright light, trying to get his bearings.

It was then that he noticed John, who had wedged himself between the bathtub and the toilet, curled into a small ball, his face pressed against his knees.

It took Alex about 0.5 seconds to realize that his boyfriend was having the world's quietest panic attack.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," he swore, now wide awake, and he dropped to his knees in front of John. "Hey, hey," he said softly, "John, can you look at me?"

John raised his head and gazed at Alex with frightened, tear-filled eyes. "Can't...can't breathe," he wheezed, and gasped, shaking.

"Yes, you can," Alex soothed, and he took John's hands in his.

John jerked away as though he had been burned, his eyes looking like those of a cornered animal, and Alex immediately lifted his hands up, putting them in the air. "Sorry, I'm sorry, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

John shook like a leaf in the wind, almost convulsing, and Alex started frantically running through solutions in his head. "I need you to breathe with me, okay?" He said, and John faintly nodded his head.

"Can I hold you hand? I promise I won't do anything to hurt you," he promised, and John nodded again. Alex gently took John's right hand, holding it so lightly that he could barely feel it.

He pressed it against his chest, over his heart, and took a deep breath. "Just try and match my breathing," he said, and slowly let out a breath, and watched John try to breathe with him.

"Good," Alex said. "One more." He breathed in and closed his eyes, and felt John do the same, his breaths ragged.

They kept at it for a while, until John was able to breathe on his own fairly well, and then Alex let go of his hand and cautiously stood up. "Do you want water?" he asked, and John nodded tiredly.

When Alex came back John had pulled himself out of the corner and was sitting against the bathtub, still curled up.

"What was that?" he asked quietly, and Alex hesitated. "That was a panic attack," he replied, and paused for another second. "You've never had one before?"

John shook his head and took a sip of water, the cup shaking slightly in his grip. "That was awful," he said truthfully. "And you go through those all the time? How are you still sane?"

"It's not the most pleasant thing in the world, no," Alex agreed. "And that's not even the worst one you can have." He sat down next to John, who leaned against him and closed his eyes. "'M tired," he murmured, and Alex wrapped his arm around his shoulders. "Then let's go to bed."

John shook his head and opened his eyes. "I don't want to be alone," he said, and Alex detected a trace of fear in his voice.

"Then you can sleep with me," he said, as if it weren't obvious, and John shook his head again. "I don't want to bother you."

"John Laurens," Alex scolded. "Jesus Christ, you will _never_ bother me."

John shrugged sheepishly. "I feel like I bother you."

Alex stared at him.

And once John started, it felt like he couldn't stop.

"I feel like I bother everyone. And I'm needy, and that's probably why my dad hates me, and now I'm useless and Martha is calling me at 12:30 in the morning because I'm not there to protect them when they need it because I'm stupid enough to get kicked out of my house, and I feel helpless but if I ask for help I'm bothering you and you don't like to be bothered-" everything came tumbling out into mess on the floor, and his breathing was getting faster and John felt like he was spiraling back down into a hole.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Alex interrupted. "Hang on, no more panic attacks," he said, and John could tell that he was only half-joking. "Where did all of this come from? And Martha _called_ you?"

John nodded. "Dad's getting worse. And she called to ask when I was coming back. But I can't go back," he said sadly, and Alex remembered waking up to the phone ringing.

"Oh God, John, I'm so sorry," he said, and he stared at John. "Why didn't you tell me?"

John shrugged again. "You have enough problems to worry about."

"My problems are small. I always have time for you," Alex said, and he twined his fingers through John's. "Come on, let's go." He helped John up off of the floor and headed back to their room,then pulled the covers aside on his bed and crawled in, pressing himself against the wall to make room for John, who was still standing at the side of the bed, twisting his hands uncertainly. "What are you waiting for?" Alex asked. "If you don't get in here you'll freeze from the temperature Elijah's keeping this place at."

John rolled his eyes and smiled a little, then got in and laid down next to Alex.

Alex flipped off the light and drew the blankets closer around his shoulders, blocking out the cold. He heard John's breathing slowly even out, and after about ten minutes he was fairly sure that his boyfriend was asleep.

Alex rolled over onto his back and stared into the darkness, thoughts running in circles in his head.

 _How long has this been happening? Has John had panic attacks before? Why is Martha calling? What's wrong? What's Henry doing to John's family?_

 _How am I going to fix this?_

X

The next morning, after a night of dozing and quietly checking on John just about every hour, Alex reached over and picked up his phone, making sure not to bump John. There was a text from Lafayette, asking if they wanted to get coffee, and an email from Professor Adam announcing the times for their Law final next week, and Alex felt a surge of anxiety when his eyes skimmed the words on his screen.

John rolled over next to him and opened his eyes sleepily. His hair was flat on one side and poofy on the other, and gave him a slightly lopsided look that Alex silently snickered at.

"Morning," John murmured, and then closed his eyes again. Alex watched him for a second, taking in everything from his spray of freckles to the way John's shoulder curved gently against his t-shirt.

"Why are you watching me sleep," John muttered. "It's kinda creepy."

"You're just cute."

"Um, thanks?" John opened one eye. "My hair is being dumb, right?"

"Mmhm."

"Great."

"Come on," Alex said, and sat up. "We're going to get coffee with Laf and Herc."

"You're making me get out of bed to be social?" John asked, surprise evident in his voice. "Is the world ending?"

"Haha," Alex said, and rolled his eyes. "It's caffeine, I'll take it any way I can get it."

"Uuuugh," John groaned, and dragged himself off of the bed and into the bathroom.

Alex got dressed, brushed his hair, and stepped into his Converse, while John wrangled his curls into a ponytail.

It was snowing again, just light flakes drifting through the air, but it created a Christmas-y atmosphere that made Alex's inner book nerd want to curl up next to a fireplace with a biography.

A few minutes later they were walking down the sidewalk, John holding out his tongue to catch snowflakes and Alex laughing whenever one went up his nose. Hercules was scooping up snow and trying to dump it down the back of Laf's shirt, while Laf batted him away and threatened to stop baking if it continued.

The coffee shop was warm and smelled like pumpkin spice lattes, and Alex inhaled deeply. "Mmm, I can feel the caffeine coursing through my bloodstream already," he sighed happily, and John started laughing.

They ordered, then sat down in the back corner, where, in Laf's words, "was the best place to people watch." John scrolled through Instagram, Alex watched the news on the small flatscreen above the barista's counter, and Herc and Laf intently watched whoever was coming through the doorway, creatively commenting on various student's outfits.

Halfway through his cup of coffee, Alex started to doze off. A night without sleep was starting to take it's toll, and he felt John nudge him. "You okay?" he asked, a hint of a smile on his face, and Alex nodded. "Just sick of midterms," he replied, and John nodded, understanding written all over his face.

"If it helps, I can't even hold my coffee very well with this brace," John said happily, and tried to hold up his coffee cup with his bad hand, then proceeded to spill caramel latte all over his wrist.

John sighed in defeat while Alex burst out laughing.

X

 **Oof, crappy filler chapter, here ya go.**

 **The next one is better, I already have it outlined and some of it ready to be proofread- get ready for angst ;)**

 **Also: if you guys want to help make a playlist for this fic, I'd love to see some of your suggestions in the reviews! I have some already, but feel free to add on!**

 _ **Home-Machine Gun Kelley**_

 _ **Hide and Seek-Imogen Heap**_

 _ **Coming Home-Skylar Grey (the GOOD version, not the rap one!)**_

 _ **Words Unspoken-Leroy Sanchez**_

 _ **SAD!-XXXTenacion**_

 _ **Better Days-Hedley**_

 _ **Inner Demons-Julia Brennan**_

 ** _Lost Boy-Ruth B._**


	18. Chapter 17

**TW: depressed actions, mention of dissociating and panic attack, description of death, mentions of cancer.**

"I have an announcement," John said loudly, and heads all around Hercules's and Lafayette's dorm room swiveled away from the tv towards his voice.

"Now that I have been legally disowned, I will no longer be taking any law classes for the rest of my life. At the start of next Trimester I will be taking classes in Marine Biology." Cheers rang out as John smiled smugly, until Angelic a piped up from where she was sitting on the floor, leaning against Herc's bed. "How are you going to pay for the rest of college though? You don't have any access to your dad's bank account anymore."

John shrugged, "I have some money stored away, but if it comes down to it, I'll get a job at Starbucks or something."

Peggy wiggled her eyebrows, "Oooh, coffee shop AU."

Herc snorted, "I'm sorry, what?"

"Ya'know, the thing that fan fiction writers do? Like, the characters are set in alternate universes or whatever," Peggy said. "You've never heard of that?"

"Um, no," Herc scoffed.

"Oh, c'mon," Peggy complained in disbelief. "You're in the Marvel fandom, you cannot tell me, with a straight face, that you have never, ever, in your entire life, read fan fiction."

"No!" Herc exclaimed. "I am a grown-ass adult."

"A grown-ass adult that has a poster hanging on his wall that declares 'I heart my fashion designer' with an enormous pink glittery heart on it," Peggy shot back, and Hercules flushed a deep red.

"Pegs, stop terrorizing him," John cut in, sighing. "And anyways, I have about a million smuggled into my bank account, so I think I'm set for a while."

There was a collective explosion of sounds that met this remark; the biggest ones being Laf doing an actual spit take and spraying water all over his desk, while Peggy dropped her glass in surprise and it shattered all over the floor.

Angelica hefted her jaw off of the hardwood as Eliza grabbed the broom to sweep up glass shards. "How did you manage to get that much money into your account?" Angelica asked in disbelief.

John shrugged, "I just took whatever amount I thought I could get away with from the time I was fifteen up until now. And it payed off, I guess. No pun intended."

Alex's mind was currently blanking out. He had never seen that much money in his entire life, much less had any in his family name or bank account.

He felt a sudden stab of jealousy-John would never have to live on a day-to-day basis of wondering when his next meal would come; he wouldn't have tp work a multitude of jobs at a young age to help his family pay fro basic bills.

He quickly shoved these feelings down. John had been through a lot-he deserved to be happy.

But Alex couldn't shake the nagging thought that he had been through more.

X

"Hey, you okay?" John asked They were sitting in their dorm room, having left Laf and Herc's place about half an hour ago. "You're like, really cranky."

"I'm not cranky," Alex muttered sourly, and John raised his eyebrows.

"Okay, whatever helps you sleep at night," he said, and Alex huffed a out a breath through his nose.

"It's just...you're so lucky. And I don't think you even realize it," he blurted before he could stop himself, and John's eyes widened.

"I'm sorry-what?" He asked in astonishment. "I'm lucky?"

"Yeah," Alex continued, oblivious to John's rising anger. "You grew up able to save all this money, you're basically set for life...Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Do you know how hard I worked?" John said incredulously.

"Do you know how hard I did?" Alex countered, and John's mouth dropped open.

"I can't believe you're acting jealous over this," he said, disbelief clouding his voice.

"I'm not jealous," Alex snapped. "You just don't know how lucky you are to have access to money-"

"Just because I had access to money does not mean that I'm lucky-"

"Actually, yeah, it does. you didn't have to watch your mom die because you couldn't afford to pay for the medicine that would save her!" Alex shouted.

"Actually, I did," John said coldly. "You've never asked, Alexander, but I had to watch my mom die from stage 4 leukemia."

All of the fight drained out of Alex in an instant. "What?"

John snorted, "Oh, now you care."

"No, I-John, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"No, you didn't," John said, his voice as icy as the sidewalks outside of the dorms. "You never do."

"I'm sorry-"

"Just-just leave. Please." John turned his back on Alex.

"John-"

"I said get out, Alex!"

Alex grabbed his backpack, laden with textbooks, and shut the door loudly behind him, sharp tears prickling at the edge of his eyes. he glanced at Her and Laf's door-there was no way that they would let him stay with him, not with all of the horrible things he had just said.

How could he have been so selfish?

He shouldered his bag and headed down the hall, into the elevator, and then out onto the sidewalk

Alex quickly realized that he had forgotten his coat, which was not smart, considering that it was about 30 degrees Fahrenheit outside. He shuddered against the cold November wind that ripped through campus as snow swirled around his ankles, flakes drifting into the holes at the side of his converse.

He took off at a brisk pace to battle the freezing cold, already starting to lose feeling in his fingertips.

He arrived outside of Hawthorne Hall, thine windows glowing a buttery yellow against the slate gray, overcast sky. Alex blew out a breath, watching the air billow into steam, before tromping up the concrete steps.

His footsteps sounded giant in the muted quiet of the dorms. Midterms started tomorrow, so everyone was getting in some last minute studying sessions.

Alex arrived in front of door 1850, melting snow puddling underneath his shoes, and hesitated slightly before softly knocking, trying not to disturb the peace of the silent dorm.

The door swung open to show Eliza, in sky blue scrubs with her dark hair slicked back in a tight ponytail.

"Oh, hey, Alex!" she exclaimed brightly, and he mustered up a small smile in return. "What're you doing here?"

"I, um," he glanced down at his sneakers before looking back up. "Can I spend the night?"

X

Alex pushed off his converse, leaving them neatly by the door, then stopped for a second to take in the Schuyler's room. It was substantially larger than his and John's, and included space for a living area big enough for a love seat and recliner, with a small flat screen mounted on the wall facing them. There was a white bunk bed and a twin, pushed against opposite walls, with desks each end of the bunk and one at the head of the twin, leaving barely enough room for the door to swing without knocking into anything. The bed that he was almost certain was Eliza's had a duvet with alternating shades of blue and white polka dots sprinkled across a teal background, and a giant fluffy ice blue pillow with a small shark propped up against it. Posters with different book titles and band names hung above it, along with a few taped-up photos of Eliza, Angelica, and Peggy on horses, at the beach, and sitting on a giant moss-covered rock.

The top bunk had a pale pink bedspread with thin white stripes across it and a delicate strand of fairy lights strung across the railing, which held Polaroids clipped up with clear plastic mini clips, while two framed quotes written in calligraphy hung in the exact center of the wall.

The bed below was in complete chaos compared to the one above; the white bedspread with bright yellow sunflowers was crumpled haphazardly in the middle of the mattress, while around it various stuffed animals and pillows were tangled in the neon yellow sheets. Pictures of art, photography, and scraps of paper with sketches, charcoal drawings, and paintings were tacked to the wall next to it, almost completely covering the entire space.

Alex blinked, taking everything in. The room was chaotic, yet inviting, and he was honestly surprised that the Schuylers hadn't killed each other yet, considering that Eliza was almost never home to keep the peace and Angelica was a neat freak.

"so," Eliza said, and she sat down on the love seat, curling her legs underneath her. Alex hesitantly took a seat in the recliner, and Eliza raised her eyebrows. "Why are you here? Not to be rude, but.." She trailed off, looking at him with face that said, _'fess up._

"John kicked me out," he said, and Eliza's eyebrows completed lift off. "I'm sorry, what?"

"We got in a fight. I said some stupid shit I shouldn't have, we yelled at each other, and then I was standing on the sidewalk freezing my ass off. So here we are," Alex shrugged. He put his head in his hands. "God, I'm so stupid."

"Okay, wait. What was this whole thing about, anyways?"

Alex grimaced. "Well...It led to us talking about his mom-yeah, I know, it's a bad subject," he added as Eliza sucked in a breath. "But it started with talking about how much money he has, and had, growing up."

"Okay, and this was a problem why?"

"Because I told him that he was incredibly lucky to be basically a millionaire and how I had to claw my way up to get here and I was a complete douchebag about it," Alex deadpanned, and Eliza blew out a long sigh.

"Okay, I'm going to be honest here. That was not a smart thing to say. But I see where you're coming from. You two both had, and have, hard lives, but in two very different situations. You both had to fight to get to where you are-trust me, John and his father had many, many fights about him going to college so far away. And yes, he's rich. But, on the other hand, he had to steal all of that money under the radar for the past four years or so. You're at the other end of the spectrum. You grew up poor, you still don't have money, and you had to battle the foster system for awhile."

"You do have a right to be angry," Eliza insisted. "But, you can't take that anger out on someone else who hasn't been in your shoes-especially if that person is your boyfriend," she added, her eyes smiling.

Alex nodded, "i know. I regret that entire conversation...I just feel like John hasn't realized how much worse his life could have been." He paused, "How do you know this much about couples therapy, anyways?"

Eliza shrugged, "My best friend Kitty works in therapy on the floor above me. You pick up a few things after hanging out with the people up there after a while."

"Huh," Alex said. He was learning new things about everyone today.

"So," Eliza stood up, rubbing her hands together. "You want to sleep on the couch or Peggy's bed? I'm pretty sure that she'll be spending the night at Maria's place, like she always does."

"Um...I'll take the couch." Alex felt a little strange about taking Peggy's bed without her knowing.

The door suddenly flung open with a crash, and both Eliza and Alex jumped. Angelica bustled through, her arms laden with takeout bags, books, and a briefcase that Alex assumed she used at her internship at the law firm down the street.

He was pretty certain that she had kicked the door in, and sure enough, when he glanced at the door, there was a solid size 9 Uggs boot print in the middle of the wood.

"Would you please stop doing that?" Eliza pleaded, turning to her sister, and Angelica shrugged. "When my arms aren't full, I'll stop doing it," she replied, and dumped her stuff in the middle of the floor. "I brought Panda Express as a food offering. Oh, hey, Alex!"

"Alex is spending the night. Don't ask," she said, silencing Angelica, who had opened her mouth with a puzzled expression on her face. "I'ts a long story."

"Well, since I'm assuming that Peggy isn't coming home, so you can have her food," Angelica handed Alex a paper bag with red writing on the front, then started neatly stacking her books on her desk.

Eliza carefully wiped the dusty print off of the front of the door, and shut it gently. "I should never have let you read Fangirl," she sighed, and Angelica shrugged. "Well, Reagan is my spirit animal. If she can kick doors open, then so can I."

Eliza discretely rolled her eyes, then grabbed her bag of food and sat back down on the love seat, Angelica plopping down next to her. Alex resumed his perch on the recliner, and Angelica turned on the tv, flicking through Netflix until she settled on The Office.

X

It was colder without Alexander in the room.

John rolled over and watched the moonlight filter through the blinds and shimmer on the floor like quicksilver.

He felt bad for snapping at Alex-and then kicking him out. But still-he had no right to tell John that he hadn't worked hard.

Ever since his mom died...John had fended for himself. He had taken care of his siblings when his dad had been locked away in his study with a bottle of scotch for his only company. He had gone through high school by himself. Had picked up college applications by himself, gotten his drivers license by himself.

Alexander had no right. Given, they were both in entirely different situations, but still.

John closed his eyes. He had midterms tomorrow, which, he supposed, was the only thing he should be thinking about.

Mind still whirring, he fell into a fitful sleep.

X

 _The hardwood was freezing against his bare feet, the thin flannel of his pajama bottoms barely making a sound as he crept through the dark house._

 _He pushed open a door, and the light from the full moon splashed across his toes, dancing on the amber bottles lined in the windowsill._

 _She had always liked to sleep with the curtains open._

 _"Mom?" John breathed, and the pile of blankets barely stirred, save for the faint movement of her chest, soft breaths farther apart then they should have been._

 _He tiptoed across the floor, casting shadows on the blankets that looked like an abyss amid the light._

 _"Momma?" he whispered. He hadn't called her that since he was six._

 _Pale skin, thin as parchment, contrasted the dark shadows underneath her eyes, like the dark side of the moon. Soft curly brown hair, now dry and limp, was splayed across the pillow that her cheek was pressed against, and her breaths were as light as a butterfly's touch._

 _John took her hand, cooler than it should have been, and held it delicately in his, feeling the monarch wings flutter in her wrist under his fingertips. Pulling back the blankets, he crawled in beside her, curled around her like he had when he was young and the nightmares of a little boy still plagued him. He held her close, counting the spaces between each rise and fall of her chest until he fell asleep, each one longer than the last._

 _That's how his father had found them in the morning, John pressed against her side, wrapped in a quilt, breathing enough for the both of them._

 _"Johnathan," he had whispered, aghast. "What have you done?"_

X

John shot up in bed, his heart hammering. It had felt so real-he expected Henry to come barging in, demanding to know why John hadn't woken him up, because maybe if he had, they would've had one more night with her.

He took a breath and put his hand on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart against his hand, still beating strongly. He laid back down and rolled over, wrapping the blankets around himself into a cocoon, and stared at the wall.

He didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

X

History was Alex's first exam, and he was freaking out.

Tests were not his forte. Essays, speaking parts, reading-he was fine with all of that. But tests? Nope, definitely not.

He sat down at his desk and glanced at the seat next to him. John wasn't here yet, and he was anxious about seeing him after the blowout from last night.

The door opened, and Jefferson and his posse sashayed through, taking the opportunity to flounce by Alex.

"Where's your boyfriend, Hamilton?" He called.

"What is this, high school?" Alex shot back, cocking an eyebrow. "You're an adult. Get some good insults and come back later when you have a vocabulary larger than a toddler's."

John chose that precise moment to walk in, and calmly glanced at Alex before setting his bag down and staring ahead at the board.

"Um," Alex hedged. "Listen. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, I said some really stupid stuff last night. I'm really, really sorry."

John watched him with a neutral expression. "Okay," he said, and reached over to dig in his bag for something.

"So...Can I come back to our room?" Alex asked tentatively, and John regarded him coolly. "If you've stopped being a dick, yeah, go ahead. Otherwise you can go back to the streets."

Ouch.

Alex sat there, his mouth gaping, and a flicker of regret flashed across John's face before it was wiped away, re-setting himself into an emotionless mask.

In the back of his head, Alex knew that John wasn't really attacking him-he was lashing out because _he_ didn't want to be attacked. Alex had seen that too many times in the foster system.

But it still hurt like hell.

And he felt himself slowly detaching, until he was numb and he couldn't feel the pain anymore, his own unhealthy coping mechanism.

Professor Washington walked in and set down a stack of papers at his desk, before starting to hand exams. Alex stared straight ahead, still in shock.

He was handed a test, and wrote his name at the top in neat print.

Everything after that was a blur.

He didn't remember anything about the test-what battles were won by what country, what answer he put for question 45, how much time he had spent on the entire thing.

His mind was fixated on four words.

Back to the streets.

Back to the streets.

Back to the streets.

He came back to reality in the boys bathroom on the opposite end of the building, slumped against the wall in the handicap stall, chest heaving while tears streamed down his face.

X

Alex stared at the door in front of him. He didn't even know if John was in their room, and frankly, he didn't really want to know.

He took a deep breath, trying to settle the anxiety fluttering in his stomach and was about to grab the knob when a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Are you going to open it or just stand there like an idiot?" John brushed past him and shoved open the door, yanking Alex's key out of the lock and handing it to him without a second glance. Alex blinked, then followed John into the room and set his bag down.

"Are you done being an ass?" John said, his back still turned, and Alex flicked his eyes up before looking back down at unpacking his books onto his bed.

"I don't know, are you done attacking me for apologizing?" He shot back, voice slightly quavering, and John turned to face him.

"Look, Alexander. I'm sorry that you think that my life isn't as hard as yours is, but we're in two very different situations. I'm not going to play the game of figuring out who gets to throw the biggest pity party, alright?"

"Fine," Alex said, and continued to stack textbooks and papers. John didn't fail to notice that his hands were shaking.

"Where'd you sleep last night? 'Cause I sure as hell know that it wasn't across the hall," John said, and Alex shrugged.

"Schuyler's. Slept on the couch," he said shortly, and then straightened and grabbed his jacket. "I'm going to go get dinner. I'll be back later."

He left before John could say anything.

X

It was supposed to be black out, and Alex was sure that if he was in the country, it would be.

But in the city, even in a the middle of the park, the New York skyline lit everything up with a glowing light, and blocked out the stars from the sky.

He missed the stars.

In the Caribbean, they shone so bright that he could pick out the most hardest to find constellations. When it got too hot in the house in the summer, he would sleep outside, happily sandwiched between the earth and sky in a cocoon of grass and light.

It was one of the only things he missed, other than his family.

Here, sitting underneath a polluted sky, with his back to the bridge railing he had tried to jump off of, he didn't feel happy.

He didn't feel anything.


	19. Chapter 18

**TW: panic attack, dissociating, brief mention of past sexual abuse, drinking, physical attack**

Alex was still numb when he went into his last midterms, and didn't stop even as he was stepping out of the English wing, walking down the sidewalk crusted in frost and bits of ice. He stepped around a chunk of snow that had strayed into the middle of the path, letting his legs carry him back to the dorms, not thinking about anything.

Earbuds were stuck in his ears, pumping rap music as he absentmindedly tapped his fingers against his thigh in time to the beat, slightly bobbing his head.

 ** _My hoodie over my face, so nobody can see me_**

 ** _I'm on a plane, 'bout to fly again_**

 ** _Looking out the window, take a moment to admire it_**

 ** _Wondering how high it is, wonder where the time has went_**

 ** _Then I shut the window and go back to feeling like I'm out my mind again_**

He shut the door to his room, dumping his bag on the floor next to his bed and grabbing his journal. He didn't feel like writing on his laptop-he wanted to feel something physical, feel the pen scratching at paper.

Alex put a few pieces of lettuce in Charlemange's terrarium, then shut the door and walked back down the three sets of stairs and out onto the sidewalk, taking the side path that would lead him to the park. It took longer to get there on foot, but it was worth it.

 ** _You left me falling and landing inside my grave_**

 ** _I know that you want me dead_**

 ** _I take prescriptions to make me feel a-okay_**

 ** _I know it's all in my head_**

It took about fifteen minutes, but he was there, sitting against the railing of the bridge, his pen flying over a page as water crashed down in the background.

Alex sat there for almost an hour, until his hands had flecks of ink and were stiff in his gloves from the cold, until his playlist had looped almost twice. His phone buzzed in his pocket, a text from John that was asking where he was. He pulled off his gloves, then shot back a reply telling him that he'd be back soon.

He stood up, wincing as pins and needles tingled up and down his legs, side effects of sitting in the same position for too long. It was a warmer year temperature-wise, almost forty degrees, and since Alex usually dressed like he was in the Arctic, he was _almost_ warm enough.

More snow and ice crunched as he walked back to the college on the well-trodden path, his breath clearly visible in the air. It would probably hit a low in the twenties, which meant his room would be cold even without an icy John in there to freeze everything out.

 ** _How do you picture me?_**

 ** _Want me to smile, you want me to laugh_**

 ** _You want me to walk in the stage with a smile on my face_**

 ** _When I'm mad and put on a mask, for real though_**

 ** _I mean, what you expect from me?_**

When he opened the door for the second time that day, Hercules and Lafayette were already there, lounging on John's bed and Alex's desk chair while John sat at his desk, legs crossed up on the seat.

Alex pulled out his earbuds and wrapped them up, tossing them onto his laptop before shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the back of the door.

"You want to come out with us?" Herc said, breaking the silence, and Alex shrugged. "Where to?"

"Bar," John replied shortly, and Alex flipped the idea over in his head. He didn't want to be alone in his room, but he also didn't want to go out in public.

"Nah, I'm good. I'll stay here," he finally said, and John nodded and said something under his breath that suspiciously sounded like, "Of course."

They left a few minutes later, leaving Alex alone once again, isolated as usual, or, rather, a tad bit more

He was alone, alone, alone.

Pulling out his phone, he pulled up a number he thought he probably would never call and punched it into the keypad.

The receiving caller picked up after three rings.

"Hey, can I ask a favor?"

X

"Thanks, dude." Alex handed Monroe twenty dollars, then shut the door, a bottle of Vodka clutched in his right hand, and made his way over to his desk, where a glass was already set next to his computer.

He cracked open the lid and poured out about an inch into the glass, then set the bottle down and sat in the chair, staring at the glass that had taken up residence in his writing space.

He reached out and picked it up, took a breath, and then raised it towards the window, where he could see the lights of New York shimmering in the distance. "Cheers," he muttered, and tipped his head back.

He waited for a few seconds, contemplating different decisions, then poured out another shot.

X

Alex's head was swimming an hour later. He hadn't been this drunk since...well. Yeah.

 _Red spooling out in a puddle, unraveling like a ribbon out of his arm._

He shut the thought down as best as he could.

It felt good to have this feeling back. He was floaty, almost, kind of how he felt when he cut.

His eyelids were heavy, like shades that kept getting dragged down by cinder blocks.

It went dark.

X

Alex woke up to daylight slicing through into his eyes, not helping the headache that was blooming in the back of his skull. John's silent form was a lump on his bed across the room, blankets tangled in his legs and feet.

He sat up, regretting the idea when the room wavered in front of his eyes, and he didn't' move until it settled back to it's original stable spot.

Coffee would fix this, he reasoned, and slowly but surely, he got dressed, choosing to throw his hair into a messy knot at the nape of his neck, baby hairs sticking out of the rubber band in a spastic explosion.

The frigid New York air sliced across his cheeks as he made his way through campus, ducking his head against the cold. Now that midterms were over, students were once again milling around, albeit quickly due to the cold, most of them wrapped in hats and scarves, clutching coffees and hot chocolates as they talked with friends.

The bell to the shop jingled lightly when he pushed the door open, letting a puff of warm air escape into the grey day outside, and he let it shut behind him, rubbing his hands together to get the blood circulating.

As always, he ordered a large black coffee, then sat at the back of the shop and pulled out his phone, scrolling through social media as he drank, then switching over to Amazon and E-Bay to shop for Christmas gifts.

He already had gotten Lafayette and Hercules' presents, along with the Schuylers, which had been a roller coaster ride, since they were all polar opposites. All that was left was John's, but everything Alex had thought of he had decided wasn't significant or meaningful enough.

He sighed in frustration, finally shutting his phone off and standing up. He tossed his empty coffee cup into the rubbish bin and stepped out of the door before freezing in his tracks.

A familiar fluffy afro was bobbing it's way through the snow-covered courtyard, flanked by a gelled-back slick of hair and tight blond curls.

Jefferson, Lee, and King.

Alex ducked his head and walked on, praying that they wouldn't notice him.

He was almost all the way across when-

"Hamilton!"

Alex winced and stopped, cursing under his breath. A hand clapped sharply onto his shoulder, spinning him around to face Jefferson, who was leering down at him, menace glimmering in his eyes.

"Good morning, Thomas," Alex said calmly. Anxiety was rushing through his veins, but he shoved it down, defiantly staring Jefferson in the eyes.

Jefferson's grip tightened, and Alex fought not to grimace; he'd definitely have a bruise tomorrow.

"How did such a fuck up like you get top marks, huh?" Jefferson was growling in his ear, breath hot against his skin. "What'd you do to bride Washington, Hamilton, because you sure as hell aren't smart enough to be at the top of the class."

His hand moved from Alex's shoulder to his throat, throwing him up against the wall of the Arts building, bricks digging into the back of his skull.

"...What?" Alex managed to gasp as Jefferson's hand constricted around his throat, similar to that of a snake.

"Don't fuck with me, what'd you do? Whore yourself out like your mother?" Jefferson grinned coldly, and Alex choked, feeling panic rise up in a wave.

 _Hands everywhere on his body as another wall pressed into his back, moonlight casting shadows over a cruel, triumphant face._

He blindly struck out with his foot, catching Jefferson's ankle, and Jefferson let out of a snarl of pain, then raised his fist and slammed it into Alex's gut.

Alex crumpled, Jefferson letting him drop to the snow covered ground, and he smirked down at him.

"Fucking bastard."

Alex heard the snow crunch as they walked away, keeping his eyes shut as he struggled to breath, his chest on fire.

After a few minutes he dragged himself up, his head and stomach burning, and almost staggered the rest of the way back to his room. shoving down the waves of anxiety that threatened to overtake him

Nothing felt broken, but it hurt like hell, and his headache had grown exponentially.

The room was mercifully empty, and he dropped his coat to the floor, then almost collapsed onto his bed, memories he had buried long ago coming in waves.

His head dropped into his hands, and his fingers clutched at his hair, pulling at the bun he had thrown his hair into, small stabs of pain appearing as tiny strands were yanked out by his careless fingers.

Alex's breath quickened, becoming shallow and sharp, and his shoulders jumped slightly as he gasped, small black splotches dancing across his vision from hyperventilating.

Minutes ebbed by slowly, stretching into what felt like days, until most of the panic attack was over, leaving him drained and empty and completely exhausted.

He tentatively got up, legs slightly shaky, and grabbed his laptop before tucking himself into the small corner created by his bed, wall, and pillow, remembering something Jefferson had said.

Sure enough, when he checked his email, there it was, a letter from the headmaster himself.

 _Dear Mr. Hamilton:_

 _In reviewing our Term 1 exam results, we have concluded that you have achieved the highest marks of our Term 1 freshman year. We congratulate you on this accomplishment and hope to see more of your exquisite work in the future._

 _Sincerely,_

 _John Adams, Headmaster_

Alex stared blankly at the screen, before a small flame of pride started to swell in his stomach.

His hard work was paying off, and here, glowing in white and black on his laptop screen, was the proof. He could become the person he wanted to be.

He wanted this so badly, it almost hurt.

And he knew he would do anything, including destroying himself, to get it.

X

 **Songs used in this chapter _:_**

 ** _"10 Feet Down" -NF_**

 ** _"Lucid Dreams" -Juice WRLD_**

 ** _"Therapy Session" -NF_**

 **Lmao sorry that this is so horribly written and short, my life's falling apart again but it's honestly fine because I don't even care anymore.**

 **I'm not going to elaborate because you've heard enough of my sob story and I'm sure you're sick of it. Expect another chapter next week!**


	20. Chapter 19

**TW: depressive actions, doctor's office**

Alexander Hamilton was on a fucking roll.

Okay, sure, he hadn't gotten more than nine hours of sleep overall in the past few days, and he barely had any time to eat, but that was fine. He was rolling with the punches, he was fine, he was _fine_.

In the back of his mind, he knew that he probably _wasn't_ fine, that he probably needed to see Dr. Evie and get his prescription changed, but there wasn't time for that. Classes and schoolwork and spending time with John-that all took up enough out of his days, he didn't have time for anything else.

Christmas vacation started at the end of the day, after two weeks of Alex running himself into the ground to keep up with school, and Jefferson, who was breathing down the back of his neck and gunning for the spot at the top of their class. Alex was planning on spending break sleeping and studying and _maybe_ getting up the guts to schedule an appointment with Dr. Evie, because he'd already had 3 anxiety attacks in the past week and that wasn't normal. The buzzing in his chest was always there, and it was starting to interrupt the already short sleep schedule he had.

Speaking of sleep-

"Alex!" John groaned, and sat up in his bed, his hair a frizzy explosion haloing his head. "Go the fuck to bed, it's one in the morning." Alex continued to stare at the book in front of him, eyes burning, a lukewarm cup of coffee sitting beside his hand. "Not tired," he muttered, and turned the page, paper crinkling.

A pillow came hurtling out of nowhere, smacking him in the side of the head, and Alex continued to read, ignoring John's sighs as he dragged himself off of the mattress. "Alex-"

The book slid off of the desk and snapped shut in John's hands, "Seriously, babe. You need to sleep."

Alex blinked. No. This wasn't right. No, he needed to study, because studying shut off the buzzing in his chest, studying helped him keep the top spot and kept failure away, studying kept him on a schedule-

" _Alex_." John was kneeling in front of him, and Alex felt himself crash back into his body.

Oh. Okay.

He'd been dissociating, that was all.

Well, that wasn't _okay_ , but it was better than a full-fledged freak out.

Yeah...he needed to call Dr. Evie.

"Come on, Alex," John said softly, and got to his feet, gently pulling Alex up with him. Alex made his feet move towards his bed, and he managed to get his pants off, fingers fumbling, and tugged on pajama bottoms before crashing into the blankets, the exhaustion of the past few days hitting him like a bus.

* * *

Christmas break started with John dropping Alex's cell phone down in front of him, a firm expression on his face. "Call. Now." Alex turned away from his position a his laptop and sighed reluctantly before picking up his phone. He scrolled through his contacts and hit a number.

A receptionist picked up. "This is Kristen, how may I help you?"

Alex took a deep breath. "Hi Kristen, I would like to make an appointment with Dr. Evie Brown, do you have any available spots open in the next few days?"

The sound of a clicking keyboard floated over from the other end of the phone for a few seconds, then, "Yes, we have an opening at nine in the morning on the twenty-seventh, would that work?"

"Yeah, that would be great." Alex let out a silent sigh of relief. "Alright, it's all set. Have a good day." Alex hit the End Call button and set his phone down, pathetic relief coursing through his veins.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in the way a lazy day passes: quiet and comfortable, slow and methodical. Alex spent most of his time on his laptop, alternating between scrolling through YouTube and working on writing. John took out Charlemange and held him in his lap while he read a few chapters for his Chemistry class, keeping the turtle's mouth away from the book. That night they wandered down to the cafeteria and ate meatloaf and fries, ending with Alex chucking a fry that stuck to John's curly hair like Velcro. They stopped at the cafe on the way back to the dorms, and Alex dropped his usual order of coffee in favor of mint hot chocolate, which burned his tongue but was completely and totally worth it in the end, when John kissed him goodnight and the taste of chocolate and mint lingered on his lips well after he was asleep.

* * *

Christmas day dawned bright and cold, with flurries of snow fluttering from the sky in big, fat flakes, sticking to the sidewalks and the bottom of student's shoes in clumps.

Alex woke up to John sitting on his bed, excitement written all over his face.

"Um...hi?"

"Get up, I want you to open your gift!" John exclaimed, and bounded off of the bed, reaching for the wrapped present sitting on the floor by his bed.

Alex sat up and yawned, the room blurry from sleep, and raked his hair away from his face, where it was gathering in tangles. He dragged himself out from underneath the covers and dug around under the bed, dredging up John's presents, then climbed back up onto the bed and pulled a blanket over his shoulders, curling his feet underneath himself. John was still bouncing around excitedly, absolutely glowing, and Alex felt a smile drift across his face. He handed John his pile of gifts. "Open yours first."

John finally grounded himself onto his bed, and carefully pulled the wrapping paper away from the first package. Inside was a Phantom of the Opera poster, a gay pride button, the novelization of Dear Evan Hansen, and a book on all of the species of turtles throughout the world.

"This is so awesome, holy crap!" John said, and unfurled the poster. He sprang up from the bed and started rummaging around in a desk drawer, coming up with a small container of push pins. "I'm putting this up right now." He clambered back onto the bed, hopping over the turtle pillow pet, and proceeded to tack up the poster. It hung, in all of it's Phantom-y glory, right above where John's shoulder would be. Alex slowly started to regret getting said poster as the seconds passed and he envisioned himself having to sleep under the gaze of a masked man for the rest of the year.

John tore into the other package, then stopped dead in his tracks, the box halfway open in his lap. "You didn't," he breathed, and looked at Alex with wide eyes before reverently lifting a pair of Phantom of the Opera converse out of the box. Alex shrugged smugly and sat back, "You find some pretty cool things on the internet if you dig hard enough."

John carefully set the shoes back into their box, treating them like they were royal jewels, and handed Alex his own box. "You have to open yours now, otherwise this isn't fair," he declared, and Alex set the box in his lap, puzzled by the weight of it. He pulled back the wrapping paper, then the tape to the cardboard box, and opened the end flap. Inside was a flat rectangular shape, and he carefully started to pull it out-

He stopped as soon as he realised what it was, and looked up to stare at John, who grinned at him. Alex pulled the rest of the gift out, and held it in his hands. If it weren't there in front of him he would have assumed this were a joke. A slim, silver laptop sat in his palms, shimmering in the light from the window.

"I knew that you needed a new one, and that you wanted an HP, not a Mac Book, and it was on sale one night-" John was spouting off a rambling explanation in the background as Alex continued to stare at the gift. A tear hit the surface of the laptop.

"'Lex? Do you not like it?" John was watching him, a concerned look on his face. Alex shook his head and swallowed the thick lump in his throat. "No one's ever done anything like this for me before," he finally choked out, and looked up at John. "Thank you."

John let him gently set the laptop down before pulling him into a tight hug, and Alex let himself relax into the embrace. "I love you." He breathed in the scent of John's sweater, a mix of Old Spice and mint. "I love you too."

* * *

Laughter bubbled through the small dorm room, filling the cramped space with happiness. Alex was sitting in Laf's desk chair, John sitting on the floor in front of him, his hair being twisted into a French braid by the former. The Schuylers had spread out, with Eliza taking Laf's bed, Angelica taking the other chair, and Peggy had chosen to perch herself on the edge of Hercules' desk, her legs dangling a few inches off the ground due to her short stature.

Piles of wrapping paper, ribbons, and tape were scattered throughout the room, creating the illusion of a mess, and among it were smaller piles of presents of various shapes and sizes, most hand-made.

So far, Eliza had made everyone one of those scenty-satchel things ( Alex had forgotten what they were called), Angelica had gotten everyone a book, Hercules had sewn varying articles of clothing from socks to hats, Laf had made (slightly misshapen) mugs from his pottery class, and Peggy had drawn or painted portraits of everyone. (Alex may or may not have cried when he opened the watercolor of him and John.)

At the moment, Laf was carefully peeling back the paper on Alex's gift, a small stack of braided leather bracelets with various sizes of beads scattered around and twisting through them. John shot him a look of confusion; Laf didn't usually wear jewelry, everyone knew that.

"I thought that maybe with your hair thing you could use the bracelets instead. Like, um, like fiddling around with them or whatever instead of pulling," Alex blurted after a beat of silence, the explanation rushing out messily.

Hercules blinked at him. "That's genius," he exclaimed softly, "How'd you think of that?"

Alex's eyes dropped to his lap, and he let go of John's hair and let his hands settle on his knees, fingers fumbling. "Since I wasn't allowed to cut after I got out of the hospital and was in therapy, I started scratching my wrists instead," he started quietly, and John's hand snaked up to grab his, entwining his fingers around Alex's. "My therapist told me to play with bracelets or rings to distract myself, and when I heard that you pulled your hair I thought that it could help."

Laf slipped one of the bracelets on, and turned his wrist, admiring the glinting beads. "I love it. Thank you Alexander," he said, and beamed at Alex, who smiled in return.

* * *

Hello, Alexander." Alex twisted his hands in his lap. "Hi, Dr. Evie." She smiled kindly at him from her chair, black framed glasses perched on the edge of her nose and brown hair twirled into a bun that had a pen shoved through it. "How've you been doing?"

Alex shrugged noncommittally. How had he been doing? He didn't know, at this point. "Okay, I guess." He paused. "John made me make an appointment."

Dr. Evie _hmm_ ed. "Why do you think he did that?"

Alex sighed. "Probably because I've had three panic attacks in the past week and I'm not sleeping," he forced out, not meeting her eyes.

Dr. Evie sat back. "Alexander," she said, disappointment seeping into her voice. "We've talked about this before."

"I know."

"Okay, then why aren't you sleeping?"

"School."

"That's not good enough, Alex."

He looked up, meeting her gaze. "I have to keep my grades up. There isn't much time to study during the day."

She raised her eyebrows, "You want to know what I think?" "What?" "I think that your anxiety is keeping you up at night and then you're oversleeping for class, which triggers more anxiety and keeps up a cycle."

Damn. He should have known she'd see right through him.

"Which," Evie continued, shuffling around some papers on her desk, "is why I'm changing your prescription."

Alex blinked. "What?"

"Yep. I'm putting you on Nortriptiline. It's a mood stabilizer, tackles anxiety and depression in one fell swoop, boosts energy, all that good stuff. _And_ it helps you sleep at night." She turned to her computer and started typing, keys clicking away at lightning speed.

"When do I start it?"

"Tonight," Evie said, and the printer whirred in the background, spitting out a small stack of papers. She swiveled her chair and snatched them out of the tray, flipping through a few pages before pulling one out and setting it in front of Alex. "We'll start you on 25 milligrams, then work our way up to 150 and see how you're doing at that point."

Alex's eyebrows scrunched down and he squinted at the paper. "Why such a low dose?"

Dr. Evie looked at him over the tops of her glasses, "Because you're underweight for your age and I don't want you to accidentally overdose."

Alex flushed and didn't meet her gaze, shame and satisfaction ironically rippling through him at the same time in a weird twist.

"Your prescription should be ready at the pharmacy on your way out, as usual," she continued, piling the papers into a neat jumble and setting them aside. "Should we set an appointment for two weeks?" Alex nodded, still looking over the sheet in his hands, mind swirling.

* * *

"How was it?" John asked when he got back to the dorm, and Alex silently held up the orange bottle in his hand, light pink capsules rattling around inside of it. "Got a new prescription," he muttered, and headed into the bathroom to put them in the medicine cabinet.

The chair squeaked slightly as John twisted in it, "That's good though, right? Maybe it'll help."

* * *

The new meds didn't help.

Instead, they gave him migraines and made him feel dizzy and sweaty and sluggish, like he was about to pass out. They muddled his brain and made it hard to write, because it was like his thoughts were drifting away from him in an endless sea. They made his emotions shut down, and yes, he didn't feel anxious, but he didn't feel anything else, either.

There was a small pit that sat in the center of his chest, where his emotions used to be. There was a sensation of frost settling onto his bones, coating his ribs and filling the hole until a ball of ice sat there instead.

He felt like a shell.

That was fine, though, because he was used to faking it. And it had only been a week-maybe things were going to get better. He just had to tough it out for right now, deal with everything, and then it would be smooth sailing.

As usual, that didn't happen.

It just continued.

He felt heavy-lethargic. It was a feeling similar to sinking slowly to the bottom of the ocean. Water drifted between the gaps in his fingers, and bubbles floated up in their wake.

"Alex?" He shook himself out of his thoughts. It was pizza night. He was with Laf and Hercules and John. There was cheese pizza that was sitting in front of him and tasted like cardboard smothered in grease.

He had to repeat these to himself, because he was drifting. It was a very strange sensation, drifting. Dissociating, but better. Less anxious, more...

Empty.

No, that wasn't the right word. No words had been the right word lately.

" _Alex_." John was watching him, concern in his eyes. Alex blinked at him. "Hmm?"

John's eyes scanned his face, flickering over the shadows underneath his eyes and the hollow parts of his cheeks. His expression wavered, concern changing minimally to something else Alex couldn't pinpoint.

He didn't really understand emotions anymore.

(You can't understand something you don't have.)

John glanced at Hercules and Lafayette, exchanging a look with them. "I'm taking him home."

Alex stood up, and the chair scraped against the floor, vibrating underneath his palms. He left his pizza sitting. It didn't matter.

He wasn't hungry.

The walk back to the dorm was silent. It was a clear night, and the moon shone off of the snow, bright enough that they didn't even really need the streetlamps positioned around the sidewalk.

It was quiet in the dorm, and even quieter in their room, save for the sound of the water filter in Charlemange's tank.

"What's wrong?" John asked, and sat down on his bed, following Alex's movements as he slumped into his desk chair. Alex shrugged, and let his eyes close. He was tired. And he wasn't making sense.

"Is today a bad day?" John prodded gently, and Alex nodded, his eyes still closed. He heard John sigh defeatedly in the background.

He made his mouth move, forced his vocal cords to cooperate. "I need to make an appointment with Evie."

"'Lex, it hasn't been two weeks yet, we don't know if this is working or not-"

" _No_!" John jumped, and even Alex was shocked at how sharp his tone had been.

His eyes flashed open, and they sliced into John with more vigorance that he had felt in a while, "I need to see her, okay? I need something fixed, I don't-I can't-" Alex broke off and ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

He stood up and started to pace, hands shaking. John stayed silent, tracking his movements carefully.

Ales finally stopped in front of his bed and sat down, then put his head in his hands.

"I can't feel anything, okay? I don't feel right, my head-it's, it's floating, and my thoughts don't match anymore, and everything is just _wrong_ ," he finally ground out. "I'm numb. I'm fucking numb all the time, John. Nothing is _working_." The bed creaked next to him, and John's hand settled on his shoulder. "Okay. Okay, we'll make an appointment, and we're gonna fix this. We'll get it right, Alex, I promise." He wrapped his arms around Alex and rested his chin on top of his head. "I love you so much, Lex. I promise we'll fix it."

* * *

 **Ayyee, it's me, ya boi, the crappy author.**

 **So I updated waaaay later than I meant too, but I just got slammed with a dance competition immediately after break, finals, a small mental breakdown over grades, and then regionals for dance this weekend. So yeah, I've been busy.**

 **Thanks for all of your support over my dilemma a few weeks back! Once again, you're proving I have the best followers** ** _ever_** **.** **Shoutout to mari_chech from Instagram for asking to translate my (horribly crappy) fic into her native language! I'm honored that others want to share my work!**

 **The full playlist for this fic will be posted on my profile and the first chapter! I'll still be adding songs as this work continues, but thank you to everyone who has given song suggestions!**


	21. On Hold

Hey everyone.

So, this fic is going to be on hold for a while. It might get updated next week like I planned, it might get updated next year. I honestly don't know. It's not my choice.

As previously mentioned, I live alone with my mother and run our farm. What I didn't say is that I live in an extremely emotionally and mentally abusive household. I get screamed at and yelled at all the time, but I'm used to it, so it's kind of whatever. There's a shitload of strict rules that I have to follow, and in the past month or so my mom has been slowly trying to increase her control of me. It started with not letting me go places with my friends, then I had to start paying for everything I needed except for some food, and last week I had to turn in my phone and computer at nine every night.

This morning everything blew up and I just snapped. I can't live with this anymore, I'm under extreme stress constantly and I can't physically deal with my living situation.

I woke up to my mom banging on my door to the point where she was almost punching it, and she was yelling at me about god knows what. I went downstairs to make coffee, since I was up late the night before studying for my Geometry and Bio tests today, and she followed me into the kitchen and proceeded to lay down a giant set of restrictions and rules and I snapped. We had a screaming match and I basically said fuck it and I went to school.

Tomorrow (March 9) I leave for Chicago on a band trip to see Hamilton (surprise lol). When I get home I have to turn over my phone and laptop indefinitely. I'm no longer allowed anywhere except straight from school and back, including leaving my house to go shopping with her. I'm not allowed to go to my job, or get my license, or go anywhere with my friends. I'm probably going to get cut off from my bank account and my money. I can't train or ride any of our horses, which is fucking hilarious because we're getting two new horses in the next two months or so and my mom is shit at training and taking care of them.

I can't live at my house anymore. I'm scared to go home. I'm scared to be anywhere near my mom. I already had a loose plan to live with one of my friends until I was safe to go home, and now it's going to be put in action.

I don't want to go. I have to leave my therapy dog and my two champion horses behind, which breaks my heart, but I'm not safe. I know my mom is going to sell my horses, which she's threatened to do before if I left, and that hurts. I got them green-broke and trained them from the ground up, and I love them so so much. They were honestly the only reason keeping me at my house, and now my safety is overriding that.

I don't know when I'll have access to the internet again. I don't know when the next chapter will go up. I'm so sorry, but I can't live there anymore. I'm leaving and I'm going to do everything in my power to not go back. They can drag me kicking and screaming back to my house, I don't care, I'll leave again because I'm not fucking dealing with it anymore. I've done this for about 11 years now and I'm sick and tired of being controlled and abused.

So I guess this is goodbye for now. I'm going to try to get my laptop before I leave so that I can still update this fic, since it has all of my writings on it, but I can't make any promises.

Thanks for everything so far,

-WroteMyOwnDeliverance


	22. Chapter 20

"Hello, Alexander."

"Hi, Dr. Evie."

"How have things been?"

A beat of silence.

"...Bad."

"Okay-bad how?"

"I can't feel anything." This had been spoken in an almost robotic voice, completely and totally numb.

"Okay. Well, the good news is that we can fix that."

* * *

 _ **John's going to die.**_

Alex was tangled around his snoring boyfriend, staring into the darkness, unable to sleep.

 _ **John's going to die and you're going to be alone again.**_

Alex scrunched his eyes shut.

 _No, he's not._

He opened them.

 _ **Yeah, he is.**_

Intrusive thoughts sucked.

 ** _Alone, alone, alone._**

Alex slowly untangled himself from John and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

 _Nothing's going to happen to John and you know it._

 _ **You said the same thing about Nicholas.**_

A breaking point.

He picked up his phone almost mechanically and scrolled through the contacts before tapping on one and bring the phone to his ear.

"Is the offer to talk still available?"

* * *

It was currently 3:24 am and Alex was sitting in the passenger seat of Laf's car, watching moonlight bounce off of the cars going past from their view in the empty Starbucks parking lot.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Alex shrugged and watched a silver Honda roll past, dulled rap threatening to burst out of the doors. "My head doesn't want to shut up."

Lafayette nodded slowly beside him. "What's it saying?"

Alex twisted his fingers together and then broke them apart, "Stuff."

"Specifics, Alexander," Laf said patiently.

"Everyone's going to die," Alex whispered. "And I'm going to be alone again."

"That won't happen."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you're strong," Laf said, and looked over at Alex. "You'd be fine. And you're never alone, Alex."

"Everyone else said that too. And look what happened," Alex mumbled, and Laf's heart shuddered for a second.

"A recurrence of an event twice is hard to come by, much less three times. I think you're safe," he reassured him, and Alex scoffed.

"Yeah? How about the fourth, then? Or the fifth. Because those both definitely happened."

Laf stayed quiet.

"My cousin and my brother," Alex finally said, "And..."

 _A boy, shaking dark hair out of his eyes and laughing at something Alex had said._

"...And Nicholas." He blinked away the prickling tears forming behind his eyes.

"My cousin died a few weeks after my mother. We were living at his house. He shot himself-James was the one that found him," he said. "James was adopted a week later. Both of them, gone. Just like that." He snapped his fingers, the sound loud in the small space, and shook his head.

"After that, and then everything else, I was alone. When I moved to the States, I didn't want to get attached to anyone, because I knew what would happen.

"But then I met Nicholas." He smiled a little into his lap.

"He was quiet, and liked art, and came from a home where no one really cared about him. He liked to smoke and had scars on his wrists too, and didn't care that I was the weird kid that could speak three languages and hid in the back corner. He drew like nothing and made the world look like how it really was, not just what people want you to think."

"He sounds wonderful," Laf said softly, and Alex nodded.

"He was a good person, but...there were the broken parts, too. He drank and smoked and didn't want to live in a reality where his life was real. He was hurt, badly. And I still loved him. I tried to help him."

 _To fix him._

"I think he was the first person I ever loved," he added quietly and closed his eyes.

"I found him. He hung himself in his room, with his little sister in the next room over and his mom downstairs."

 _I'm so sorry, Nick._

"It was my fault. I fucked everything up because I didn't love him enough." He swiped at the stinging tears trickling down his face.

"I'm so sorry," Laf said and grabbed Alex's hand. "I'm so sorry, Alex, but that's not your fault. You're one of the most loving people I know, even though you've been through so much. Nicholas was sick, and that's not your fault."

Alex was full-on crying, tears splattering onto his pajama pants. "They're all dead, Laf. Why are they all dead?"

Laf felt his clench in his chest, and he looked out into the night, at the stars winking in the sky. "I don't know."

Alex's shoulders shook as he sobbed, and Lafayette squeezed his hand tighter.

* * *

Alex couldn't get out of bed.

It wasn't because of choice-although he knew that if he really, truly wanted to, he could drag his ass over to his desk chair.

But that felt like so much work.

Instead, he rolled over, taking the blanket with him and wrapping it tighter around himself, as if the comforter would keep out the numbness seeping into his chest. As if it could keep out the anxiety pounding in his brain.

He floated in the soft reality that swam between being awake and asleep, drifting in and out as students rushed loudly down the hall and John got up and quietly left, shutting the door gently and believing that Alex was still asleep.

The door opened again three hours later, and John hung his coat up along with his keys. Alex had barely moved, only rolling onto his back to stare mindlessly at the ceiling.

"You're still not up?" John kicked off his shoes and tossed his sweatshirt onto his bed. "C'mon Alex, you need to eat lunch."

Alex didn't say anything. Everything just felt like too much.

"Alex?"

Nothing.

"Alexander." Worry, sharp and distinct, was seeping into John's voice, saturating the room around him. His footsteps echoed softly on the wooden floorboards.

The bed dipped as John sat down, setting his hand on Alex's shoulder. "'Lex? Can you talk to me, please? I love you."

Alex stayed silent.

John laid down in the small space between the edge of the mattress and Alex, curling himself around his boyfriend like a shield, laying his head on his chest. Alex shifted slightly, moving over so that John wouldn't fall off of the edge, and screwed his eyes shut, feeling like the world was crumbling around him.

Depression had him in it's claws and wasn't letting go. It would never let go.

The thought stuck to his brain like glue, circulating around the humming anxiety and the dragging numbness. There was nothing but Depression and Anxiety, nothing beyond them, not now, not ever.

"Talk to me, Alexander." John's words were whispered, and Alex wanted to cling onto them, cling to those words and that breath and everything that John was to him, but his hands were already slipping off of the rope that he was so desperately hanging onto, and he had dragged so many others down with him that he couldn't bear to lose John, too.

It was too much. Everything was too much. It was overwhelming and suffocating and Alex didn't want to do it anymore.

"I can't help unless you let me inside your head, sweetheart," John added quietly after a few moments, and, _fuck_ , that broke Alex more than he wanted to admit.

"Nobody wants to be inside my head."

The sentence was murmured dully, Alex's voice devoid of emotion. John lifted his eyes to look at Alex, who was still staring blankly at the ceiling.

"Try me," he offered, and held Alex tighter, pretending that the words Alex had just said didn't scare the crap out of him.

But Alex just shook his head slightly.

It was too much.

* * *

There was a block sitting on Alex's chest, heavy and unmoving, that came with med increases. It was like an emotional shutdown, except anxiety had been forgotten behind, a survivor that whom he had preferred not survive.

Because when everything else is gone, and one thing is left, you become that thing.

Anxiety was eating him from the inside out.

It started in the morning, and made him not want to get out of bed, but not because he couldn't, but because he wouldn't.

Because the world scared him.

Anxiety was a fickle thing: it had seeped into his brain and rooted there, slowly gathering information until it was ready to strike, like a venomous snake camouflaged beneath a desert sky, poised and waiting for prey.

Anxiety sat in a ball in the pit of his stomach and made it hard to eat or think, or function in any way. It hijacked his head and scrambled his thoughts into things that he knew logically weren't true...but he couldn't prove it.

Alex felt like he was semi truck with cut brakes spiraling out of control on an icy highway: on the brink of destruction, completely and totally dangerous, with no way of stopping it.

He hated that feeling.

He'd spent most of his life being told what to do, where to go, how to think, how to act. Do this, do that, wear this, pack your crap, move to this home.

He was so sick of it.

And now he couldn't even control his own brain. He couldn't control anything.

* * *

He couldn't eat.

It wasn't because it was calories or fat or carbs-it was the fact that his chest being crushed by an invisible force and he was so nervous he thought that he was going to throw up.

So he switched between nibbling on protein bars, fruit, and any type of crackers he could get his hands on.

Drinking coffee probably didn't help, but neither did feeling tired and groggy, which would eventually end up triggering some stupid depressive freak-out and then he'd be right back where he'd started.

So coffee, water, and grazing like some strange herd animal...the last few days of break were interesting, to say the least.

Anxiety took away his ability to sleep along with everything else. It took so long to shut his brain down, get the gears to shudder to a halt and settle into a resting state, to make the spiraling conveyor belt that went in a circle to slow down that Alex just gave up. Stopped trying.

Started running.

He'd run almost his whole life. Run from the Caribbean. Run from the foster homes. Run from Nicholas.

Run from himself.

So Alex dug out the old, beat up sneakers that had been stuffed far back underneath his bed and knotted the droopy laces, all while John stared at him like he'd sprouted three heads.

"Are you sure you'll be fine?"

Alex sighed, "I'm running around campus, John. I'm not going to throw myself into traffic or something."

An uncomfortable silence followed. It'd been four days since the Alex-can't-get-out-of-bed incident.

He cleared his throat. "Sorry."

John pulled him into a hug and rested his chin on top of Alex's head. "I love you. Be careful."

Alex let himself relax into the hug for a minute.

"Always."

* * *

There was something about the rhythmic slap of running shoes on pavement that calmed him

Maybe it was the sound. Maybe it was the fact that he was actually doing proper exercise for the first time in about four months. He didn't know and didn't care.

It was a thankful escape, ironically. He was getting away from his problems by literally running from them.

Fitting. It was the only thing he could seem to do right. Had been since he was a kid.

The habit would probably follow him around for the rest of his life.

* * *

Alex mindlessly picked at his buttered noodles. He had eaten a few bites at the beginning of lunch before his stomach knotted too tightly and the buzzing in his chest had increased.

Both John and Laf were watching him out of the corners of their eyes when they thought he wasn't looking.

"Alex, why don't you eat some more," John finally said, glancing at the bowl and then back up at Alex.

Alex swirled his fork around for a few more seconds, then pushed the bowl back and stared at the table. "I can't," he said, keeping his eyes on the table surface, and his friend's eyes turned to him.

"Why not?" John asked, brow furrowing, and Laf narrowed his eyes. Alex lifted his hands and made a sort of shrugging motion before letting them drop back down. "I just...can't," he said, frustrated. It was too hard to explain, too much to share with John, who wouldn't understand.

Laf spoke up, firing in rapid French, "Je pensais que c'était mieux, que s'est-il passé?"

 _I thought that it was better, what happened?_

Alex shook his head, "Non, ce n'est pas ça, c'est ... c'est autre chose."

 _No, it's not that, it's...it's something else._

Laf watched him carefully, eyes full of concern. "Es-tu malade?"

 _Are you sick?_

Alex shrugged numbly.

"Lex, please try to eat more," John cut in gently, "I know you don't want to, but you'll feel worse if you don't."

"He's right," Hercules chimed in, and Alex sighed before slowly picking up his fork and twisting noodles around it. They tasted like cardboard, and he had to force himself through the process of chewing and swallowing, but he managed to eat almost half of the bowl before he set his fork down. His chest was buzzing at such a high frequency he was surprised no one else could hear it, and his stomach churned, knotting dully.

Ten minutes passed, and he thought he had made it when his nausea spiked, making his mouth water unpleasantly. Shit. He slowly breathed through his nose, trying to push it down, and his stomach lurched, almost making him gag.

Alex pushed away from the table and walked to the bathroom, feeling eyes burn into his back. He barely registered the fact that the bathroom was thankfully empty before he was in a stall and on his knees, vomit racing up his throat. Through the sound of retching, he heard John, Laf, and Herc's footsteps, and then his hair was being held back by John, who knelt beside him and rubbed his shoulder. After feeling as though he had thrown up everything but his shoes, Alex sat back and leaned against the cool side of the stall, closing his eyes. The anxiety that was sitting on his chest had lifted slightly, but not by much, and he wanted to cry all of the sudden because it was a cycle that never stopped.

"I wish you had told me you were sick." John was the one to break the silence, sounding ironically guilty, and Alex fought down the urge to laugh. "I'm not sick," he said hoarsely, and opened his eyes, looking at John.

Laf was leaning against the stall doorway, eyes tracking Alex's every movement, confusion and worry muddling the brown irises.

"I'm not sick," Alex repeated and swallowed thickly. "I can't eat," he started, and Laf's eyes flashed before he continued.

"I'm trying. I swear to God, I'm trying. I just can't, okay? Or else I'll throw up, or have a panic attack, or whatever the hell else my anxiety makes me do."

He clenched his hand into a fist and let it relax slowly. Felt his anger crack.

"I'm so tired." His voice was broken, sounding like he was on the verge of crying, whereas two seconds before he wanted to punch the wall.

John was smoothing his thumb in circles on the back of Alex's hand, while Laf pushed off of the door and looked at Alex with kind eyes.

"Well, I think the first thing you need is a nap," he announced smoothly, and Alex mustered a smile.

* * *

"I don't know what to do with you, Alexander," Evie sighed. The tapping of her foot was muffled by the speckled gray carpet as she skimmed over the clipboard that held his usual questionnaire: two sheets, one for anxiety and one for depression. Both had higher scores than Evie would have liked.

She squinted at him through her glasses and frowned before turning to her computer and pulling something up.

"You're riding at exactly 150 milligrams right now," she murmured, and glanced at him, twisting her mouth before sighing.

"I _could_ bump you up to 225...but if that doesn't work..." She trailed off, reading through her notes.

"Okay. Okay. Alex, I'm moving you up to 225. That's the highest possible dosage I could give you. You've gained weight-"

His heart clenched.

"-but not much. If this doesn't work, I'm going to have to switch you again. I have a feeling I'm not tapping into the right brain chemistry." She raised her eyebrows at him. "I really need to see you try, Alex, got it? Eating three meals a day, doing breathing exercises, _sleeping_." Evie shot him a look.

Alex nodded and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew she was trying to help. But he still didn't like the fact that she was screwing with his head.

* * *

Nortriptyline had taken everything from him. Energy, emotions, the ability to function on a daily basis.

He had no control.

 _No control, no control, no control._

His life was just one giant shithole of people telling him what to do.

He was done. He was so done.

He was getting his control back.

* * *

An alarm screamed, ripping through the black, dreamless state Alexander was drifting through. These days he wasn't really dreaming, not anymore.

He reached out from under the duvet and fumbled for his phone. God, it was cold. His fingers felt stiff.

Slamming his finger onto the screen, he tossed his phone aside and pondered if it was worth it to stay under the covers, which was warm, or to get up and get coffee, which was also warm, but then he had to freeze his ass off along the way.

Considering that he had class in 20 minutes...

Alex hauled himself out of bed and set his feet on the floor, closed his eyes as the room swayed for a second. He was used to it.

It came with the territory.

He dragged a blanket off of the bed and draped it around his shoulders, clutching like it was a cape, and shuffled over to the coffee machine, hitting start with a yawn.

He made his way into the bathroom and went through the routine. Brush your teeth. Brush your hair. Don't look in the mirror.

(Don't get on the scale.)

Go back outside. Drink your coffee.

Get your shit in order.

Have control.

(Break some more promises, because you haven't done that enough already.)

John was up by now, sleepily fiddling with the toaster. He hit a button and something popped up, golden brown. John slathered it with creamy goodness from the mini fridge and handed it to Alex, who was leaning against his desk, finishing his coffee.

"Breakfast, hand-made just for you," John smirked, and Alex took it from him, already knowing what it was.

"Thank you," he replied, and batted his eyelashes flirtatiously, running calculations in his mind.

 _Bagel: 230 calories. Cream cheese: 80 calories per teaspoon. 310 calories, give or take the cream cheese amount._

Alex wasn't good at math. Really, he wasn't.

He could add, though.

He set the bagel on the desk and put his mug next to it ( _completely black coffee, 0 calories_ ). John frowned at the cup, "How do you drink that stuff? It tastes horrible straight black."

Alex shrugged, tugging on a sweatshirt lightning fast. He was so cold. "Got used to it, I guess." Jeans were next, denim slow to warm against his skin, stiffer in the chilly air.

He grabbed his coffee, leaving the bagel on the desktop, and poured some into a travel mug, slapping a top on, then laced up his Converse, hoping that if John was distracted he wouldn't notice the discarded food.

Instead, just as he was grabbing his bag, John shoved it into his hand and gave his cheek a quick kiss. "Have fun. Don't beat Jefferson too hard."

Alex mustered up a smile. "No promises."

He pushed away from the pinging feeling of guilt in his chest as he stuck the offending bagel into the garbage bin outside their dorm hall, tucking it underneath that day's newspaper.

* * *

 **Okay, first of all:**

 **Wow. Wowowowow.**

 **HAMILTON WAS AMAZING. I cried. Like, a lot. And I'm not an emotional person. I basically sobbed through the last half of Act 2. It was so gorgeous, the cast did such a great job, I was completely blown away (pun not intended). Eliza gave this god-awful, heartbreaking scream after Philip's death and I broke down. Predictably sobbed through "The World Was Wide Enough." I honestly didn't know if they'd stay true to the original OBC and do a fourth wall break, but Eliza did gasp at the very end and I absolutely lost my shit over it. I walked out of the theater bawling.**

 **I think I used up all of the tears for the next decade from that night alone.**

 **It was** **beautiful and breathtaking, and I have no words. I'm pretty sure my soul was projected into the astral plane from how wonderful it was.**

 **Second: I'm sure you're wondering what my living situation is like. I'm still at my house. Yep, I know, I'm disappointed too.**

 **But in my defense, I'm going to wait until I have a car, which will be in about a month or so because without a car I can't get to my job and then by default I won't be able to provide for myself.**

 **I still hate it. But I just have to remember that it's temporary. Plus, now some of my teachers know and they're keeping an eye on it.**

 **Thank you so much, everyone, for your support. I know I've said that before, but seriously, I mean it.**

 **Lilly, whoever you are: I want to personally thank you because I've been in a really dark place recently and reading your reviews was a godsend. Not joking. Thank you so much. You're an incredible person.**


	23. Chapter 21

**Before we get into this chapter, drop everything and go listen to Gabbie Hanna's "Out Loud" and "Medicate," in that order (watch the "Out Loud" music video for the full experience.) I discovered these recently and they both tie in so well with both this and my story, and I see them reflect Alexander and Nicholas' relationship (which we will be getting deeper into in both this and next chapter, you're in for a treat haha). Please listen to them, they're amazing.**

 **TW: disordered eating, panic attack, mention of past and current self harm**

X

Here are the things people tell you about eating disorders:

The thigh gap. The stately collarbones. The way you feel in control. The hollows underneath your cheekbones. The feeling of running your fingers over your ribcage, which become your very own xylophone.

Heres what they don't tell you:

The anger that comes from breaking a fast. The nights you spend in the bathroom, biting your fist to muffle sobs, as your boyfriend pretends to type in the next room as you try not to purge. The cold that settles into your bones and turns your skin pale and marbled. The way your heart flutters when you stand up, and the wave of dizziness that follows. The anxiety attacks that come after losing your calorie count. The lies. The frustration. The secrecy.

The shame.

Alex was used to all of this. It had been like that Before, and it was like that After.

The first time he was in the hospital, before The Incident, he'd been diagnosed, but not really. EDNOS, they said. Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified.

He wasn't doing it to be thin. He was doing it because he was trying to gain power over himself for once in his life.

He'd never fit inside the boxes people tried to stuff him into. He hadn't fit into that one, either. He wasn't anorexic. He wasn't bulimic. He just...was.

 _Glamorous_. That's what people said. Having an eating disorder was _just so glamorous._

(There's nothing glamorous about passing out from restriction or shoving your fingers down your throat.)

X

The tapping of a pen echoed throughout their room as Alex sat in front of his desk, a notebook open in front of him, words that had been scribbled and crossed out scrawling on the page.

Drying ink stained the tips of his fingers, black against pale skin, and he gnawed on the pen cap, an old habit not yet forgotten.

"Any progress?" John asked from across the room, and Alex looked up.

"Nope," he sighed, and set the pen down. "Nothing."

He was supposed to be writing poetry for his Creative Writing class, something about the environment around you, but that just wasn't happening.

"Write about yourself," John suggested, and Alex snorted.

"I hate myself."

"Alex!"

"Sorry, sorry. It's true, though."

" _Alexander_."

" _Fine_ ," he sighed, and picked up his pen.

He glanced over at John, who had his hair in a sloppy ponytail and was wearing a raggedy tee, spinning a highlighter in his hand while skimming through his Biochemistry book.

 _Black shaggy hair pushed back, sketching light lines onto creamy paper, grinning at Alex through thick lashes._

He started writing.

X

 _Here I am_

 _trapped_

 _beneath these waves_

 _as water_

 _fills everything_

 _that you_

 _left_

 _behind._

 _Gaping holes_

 _torn, slashed, ragged at the edges,_

 _burning underneath_

 _a thousand broken promises,_

 _salt water in a wound_

 _that cannot_

 _(will not)_

 _be healed._

 _I was_

 _so selfish-_

 _only thinking_

 _of_

 _me,_

 _always_

 _me,_

 _never you,_

 _even though_

 _all I ever did_

 _and have done,_

 _was for you._

 _But yet,_

 _that was what you said_

 _that night,_

 _with my world_

 _smoldering_

 _crashing_

 _shattering around my shoulders,_

 _dragging me_

 _down_

 _down_

 _down_

 _into this abyss,_

 _flames snuffed out_

 _by the water_

 _I once loved._

 _And now_

 _I'm here,_

 _haunting the sea,_

 _a siren_

 _with no voice_

 _only_

 _a broken melody_

 _that sounds_

 _like_

 _a love song_

 _on a cracked record_

 _scratched by a razor needle,_

 _with your hands_

 _spinning the_

 _disc._

X

The lecture hall door closed with a defining clap, and Washington appeared with his ever-present stack of papers and textbooks, setting them on his desk with a small thump. He leaned against the front of his desk and clasped his hands neatly.

"Today I'll be dividing you into groups of two to begin our projects on the amendments. You'll be either defense or offense, which I will be assigning, and next week we will have a debate criticizing the amendments I've selected for you that day. You will have five minutes to prepare a speech and formulate a point, then we will debate in front of the class."

Alex tensed as Washington began to call off names.

 _Dear God, no._

"Hamilton and Jefferson."

A cold wave of anxiety rolled over Alex's shoulders, dousing out any other sensation. Jefferson sneered at him from across the room, his eyes maliciously gleeful.

Alex sat, frozen, for the rest of the class, trying to gather up the courage to speak to Washington about switching partners.

Unfortunately, he never got the chance.

Jefferson was already shoving his way over to Alex the moment Washington dismissed them, and Alex steeled himself for the verbal abuse to start hitting him.

"So." Jefferson's eyes were narrowed, his jaw set. "I want the top grades out of the class. Where and what time do you want to meet so that we can get this over with as quickly as possible?"

"Cafe, I guess," Alex grumbled, keeping his head down, and started shoving materials into his bag. Jefferson rolled his eyes. "Fine. What time?"

"Um..." Alex grabbed his coat and started to pull it on, the sleeve catching the edge of his sweater and tugging it up with the jacket. "Tomorrow? Three works for me."

Jefferson nodded, then dropped the uninterested mask as his eyes widened. "Holy shit-"

Quicker than Alex could process, Jefferson's hand darted out and closed around his wrist, turning it over.

Alex's stomach dropped out as Jefferson's eyes skimmed lightning-fast over the web of scars.

"What the fuck, Hamilton-"

Alex snatched his arm back and yanked his sleeve down, shaking as panic swiftly rose in his throat. "I have to go."

He grabbed his bag and ducked around Jefferson, booking it out of the hall and out onto the sidewalk before breaking into a sprint, panic flooding through his veins.

 _Dorm dorm dorm dorm dorm-_

He flung open the door to his dorm building and thundered up the stairs, trying to breathe through the quickly closing gap in his throat.

He fumbled with the key before finally getting it into the lock and burst through the door into his room before slamming it shut behind him and dropping his bag to the ground.

"Alex-?"

John's voice was distorted through the sharp static in filling his ears, and Alex lunged for the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and flipping the lock.

His entire chest was alight with a buzzing sensation, tingling underneath his ribs and crushing his lungs.

He knows he knows he knows-

"Alex!" John's voice was muffled through the door, but Alex could still hear the worry in it. "Can you open the door please?"

Alex dropped onto the edge of the bathtub and wrapped his arms around his middle, trying to breathe through the crushing weight on his chest.

"Lex, if you don't open the door I'm gonna have to get the key," John called, sounding frantic.

Alex slowly uncurled an arm and fumbled for the knob, blinking back the black spots dotting his view of the bathroom. As soon as the lock was flipped, John burst through the door, panic written all over his face. He knelt in front of Alex, "Hey, hey, hey. What happened? What's wrong?"

Alex's chest heaved and his fingers slipped under his sleeve, running over the ridges on his arm.

"He saw," Alex gasped, and John's eyebrows contracted. "Jefferson saw," Alex repeated, and dug his nails into his arm, relishing the pain. John's gaze flickered down, and then realization dawned across his face.

"Hey." John caught his eye. "It doesn't matter, Lex. Okay? Who cares?"

He took Alex's hand in his, "Everyone's been through shit. Seriously. And if he mentions it, I'll punch the asshole personality right out of him."

Alex managed a half-hearted snort, and took a breath.

"Yeah," he agreed, still coming down from the panic attack. "Yeah, okay."

X

The next day dawned cloudy and bright, with the forecast calling for yet more snow later in the afternoon.

Alex shuffled along the sidewalk, taking his sweet time. Maybe if he took long enough, Jefferson would leave from impatience and he could put this off longer.

He had no such luck, however, and pushed open the door to find Jefferson sitting at a table, books already spread out in front of him.

Alex ordered a coffee and sat down, pulling out his notebook and pens. Jefferson looked up, "I'm just putting ideas together."

Alex nodded, anxiety churning in the pit of his stomach, and started flipping through pages, gathering information.

Minutes passed, dragging long and slow, but he could still feel the burn of Jefferson's glances at his arms, which were covered by his sweatshirt.

"If you're going to ask, just ask," Alex said finally, slamming his notebook shut and setting down his pen.

Jefferson paused, taken aback for a second.

"How'd you get those scars."

"First of all, it's none of your damn business, and second, I think you already know." Alex smiled sweetly at the other man and re-opened his notebook.

Jefferson rolled his eyes. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered, more to himself than Alex, and tugged up his sleeve.

Alex had to squint before he realized.

It was hard to see against the older boy's darker skin, but they were there-silver ladder lines, thin railroad tracks leading up to the crook of his elbow.

Alex blinked. Thomas Jefferson, who it seemed no one could touch, who had a perfect life, a cutter?

That wasn't possible.

No way.

But the evidence was there, blatantly staring at him.

Jefferson pulled his sleeve back down before Alex could gawk any longer, and met eyes with the other boy.

"How?" Alex finally managed to get out, and Jefferson shrugged nonchalantly.

"In my house, we don't really 'do' emotions or feelings. I had some pretty bad anxiety when I was younger-still do, actually. I just deal with it better now. Back then..." Jefferson calmly spread his hand and shrugged. "It is what it is. I stopped when I was 17."

His gaze leveled with Alex's.

"When did you stop?"

Alex tightened his jaw.

"It's none of your business," he repeated shortly.

It was silent for a few beats.

"So what?" Alex said, and sat back. "You're going to tell everyone how much of a freak I am?"

Jefferson shook his head. "No, I'm not going to do that. Not when you have the same ammo against me. And anyway, it's been half a year. I'm getting tired of beating you into the ground." He smirked at Alex, who rolled his eyes.

"Fine. You keep my secrets, and I keep yours. Deal?" Alex held out his hand. Jefferson grabbed it, and they shook once before sitting back.

"I did kick your ass though," Jefferson remarked, and Alex tossed his straw wrapper at him.

"Shut up."

X

Nicholas visited him that night.

Filmy and white, thin and gaunt, he stared at Alex from his spot next to the end of the bed, eyes black, accusing.

Alex sat up, clutching the blanket to his chest.

Nicholas took a step forward, reached out his hand.

Alex jerked backward, ripping himself out of reach. His voice wavered weakly in the air.

"What do you want?"

Nicholas opened his mouth. Thick, black tears began to dribble out of his eyes and dripped down his cheeks, staining them gray.

 _"Your fault."_

It came out as a hiss, angry and low, grating on Alex's ears.

He lunged out, grasping for Alex-

Alex bolted up, chest heaving.

 _Just a dream._

It had felt so real-

 _Just a dream._

He blamed himself for Nicholas' death, that was no secret. Everything that had led up to the one point-it was on him.

 _Stop it! You're drunk, stop-_

 _God Alexander, you're such a_ tease _-_

A small, sick part of him was glad that Nick was gone. He didn't think that he could stand to be around him any longer, not after that night.

Still...

 _Your fault_

X

"Alexander, this is extraordinary." His professor blinked at him from behind her thick-framed glasses, her flaming red hair twisted into a bun with a pencil shoved through.

"You wrote this?" She held the paper out towards him, and when he nodded, she shook her head.

"Alex, in my opinion, you shouldn't even be in this class."

His heart stuttered in his chest, and he shoved down the urge to press his hand over his breastbone.

 _Ugh, side effects._

"If I were you, I'd speak to the headmaster about moving you up to my advanced class. A mind like yours shouldn't be wasted."

Pride swelled, threatening to burst out of his throat, and he suppressed a grin.

"I'll email professor Adams tonight, but I think you should make an appointment to see him about getting moved up." She smiled at Alex and set the paper down in front of him.

"Thank you, professor Abigail!" he said, and she nodded, heading back to her desk.

The air outside was brisk, but Alex was used to the cold by now. He embraced it like an old friend, now that it was another side effect.

 _Side effect, side effect._

 _I'm a side effect._

He headed over to the cafeteria, where John and everyone else was waiting. Inside it was warm and loud, filled with chatter from other students.

His friends were at their usual table, surrounded by bags and books, and a few scattered papers that he presumed to be Peggy's, since they had sketches all over the margins.

He set his bag down and sat next to John, who shot him a look.

"Where's your lunch?"

"Grabbed something from the cafe on my way over, I'm not really hungry." The lie rolled off his tongue smoothly, and John nodded. "Gotcha."

Conversation buzzed around him for a few minutes, until he couldn't stand it any longer.

"Professor Abigail wants to move me up into her advanced class!" he blurted, and the table went silent in shock.

John blinked at him. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Alex stared at John, disbelief on his face. "What do you mean?"

"'Lex, you're already stressed. Are you sure you want to add this to your schedule?"

"I'm fine, I'm not stressed!" Alex argued, and John pursed his lips.

"Okay, when was the last time you slept?"

Alex clamped his mouth shut.

 _Low blow, Laurens._

"I'm fine," he repeated. "Everything's in control!"

 _30 cals for creamer, 49 for the scone, 0 for coffee._

"When was the last time you ate?"

"This morning!" Alex exclaimed, and John's eyes flashed.

"Huh, really? Because I thought that you had something on the way over here." His voice was laced with anger, and Alex knew he was fucked.

 _Oh, shit._

His shoulders sagged as the fight drained out his body. He could practically hear his brain whirring as he thought of a way to get out the lie.

"Okay, you caught me. I didn't have anything since breakfast."

 _Think think think._

"My anxiety won't let me eat."

 _There you go._

I'm sorry for lying." Alex looked at his hands. At least the last sentence was true. He _was_ sorry for lying to John. His boyfriend didn't deserve that.

"Alex." John sounded sad. "It's okay. But this is exactly what I'm talking about. You're too stressed for this!"

Alex nodded along, keeping his face neutral.

 _You're wrong. I'm fine._

"I think you just need to take it easy for a while."

 _I'm in control._

Alex nodded again.

 _I'm in control._

X

The nightmares kept coming.

Maybe it's from stress, maybe it's because he finally unearthed all the emotions he'd been burying from the past, Alex didn't know.

He just wanted them gone.

Instead, he studied. Coffee helped, but not eating helped more. A hunger-panged stomach kept you more awake than caffeine ever would. Sleeping was replaced by work, extra hours of staying up filled in by extra work that he forced himself into.

If Professor Abigail wanted 3 poems, he gave her 6. If Professor Adams wanted a 5 page paper, he gave him a 10 page one.

It was simple, really. More work equaled less sleep.

His grades were wonderful. Stellar, actually. There was no reason that he shouldn't have been moved up into higher classes.

And, yes, okay, he wasn't listening to Evie. And maybe it was riding on his guilt complex like a cinderblock.

But hey-everything else was fine, right?

 _I'm in control._

X

The scale taunted him.

In the back of his head, he knew that he wasn't in control of everything-if anything, he was spiraling wildly all over the map.

But right now? He was okay.

But that stupid scale still was there, every morning of every day. It took almost all of Alex's willpower not to get onto that stupid piece of plastic.

He broke going into the second week of his relapse.

 _Not doing that again._

It stared at him through the wooden door.

 _Not doing that again._

It scowled at him while he brushed his teeth in the morning.

 _Jesus fucking Christ on a bike._

Alex stared at the scale.

The scale stared back.

He set down the toothbrush. Stepped off a cliff.

Onto the scale.

Shut his eyes.

Peeked them open.

Bounded off.

 _Five pounds._

He'd lost five pounds.

Dear Lord above, _yes_.

 _Control, control, control._

Alex was happy-scary happy. The feeling bubbling in his veins was intoxicating, even more so than cutting.

 _Yes yes yes yes._

Just like that, Nicholas' voice wafted across his ear for a second, accusation sharp and foreboding.

 _Your fault._

Alex shook his head, closed his eyes as the bathroom tilted slightly.

 _I've got it under control._


	24. Chapter 22

**TW: disordered eating, mentions of past sexual abuse, depressed thoughts and actions, self-hatred, purging**

 **I am...so sorry. This is a hard one.**

X

The words "I'm sorry" didn't have a meaning to Alexander, not anymore. He'd heard them too many times. They carried nothing, held no sentiment.

"I'm sorry" didn't turn back the clock. It didn't fix his life, or rather, what was left of it. It didn't reverse what had happened, what would continue to happen.

It didn't wipe his memory, replace his brain with a clean slate and a _have a happy life, Alex, here's the solution to all your problems!_

"I'm sorry" didn't bring people back from the dead. He knew that all too well.

X

The only indicator of his spiraling mental health was the gauntness of his face, the way the shadows underneath his cheekbones seemed to multiply and spread with every skipped meal. Whenever John asked, Alex tacked it up to school.

"I guess I'm just not sleeping that well. Too many papers, you know how Adams loves those things."

"No time to eat between classes, I have Creative Writing right after History on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, and then it's Poli-Science, plus you know how Professor Franklin loves to drone on and on. "

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Yeah, it's under control."

He'd perfected smiling and nodding, while on the inside he was withering. It was a mask, piled on makeup and illusions, like glamour from a fantasy novel.

 _Help me_ , he screamed. _Help me._

On the outside, he beamed.

X

Alex had known it was bad when the stuttering in his chest started.

It would appear at seemingly random points-standing up after Creative Writing, walking across the courtyard, waiting in line at the cafe. He knew what it meant.

His heart couldn't take what he was putting his body through. '

If that wasn't a big enough warning sign, black spots and dizziness frequented his vision, tilting the world 90 degrees or more, leaving him swaying and nauseous, light enough to blow over if you breathed too hard. Bruises scattered across his skin, left from bumping into desks or other students.

 _I'm falling apart._

Instead, he forced himself together, like glue holding a cracked plate.

More organization, better classwork, distraction, distraction, distraction.

Talk less, smile more. Don't let them know what's going on behind the scenes, what happens when the curtain falls after the performance.

X

There were the breakdowns, of course.

The binges.

The _3 am, what-are-you-doing, oh-fuck-I-screwed-up-again_ mistakes.

It wasn't exactly a good thing that there was a McDonalds right down the street from his college.

"Can I have a Quarter Pounder, a large fry, a strawberry shake, and an apple pie please?" Alex ordered calmly. He'd been fasting for three days. His heart was thudding rapidly in short bursts, and he was pretty sure that he was about _thisclose_ to going into cardiac arrest.

"That'll be $10.95," the cashier said, his voice dripping with boredom, and Alex dug out his wallet.

When he got back on campus, he ate quickly, scarfing down everything in under 15 minutes on the steps to his dorm, practically inhaling every piece of food he could get his hands on.

He headed up to his room, his stomach a lead bowling ball.

John was gone, out studying with a group from his Biochemistry class, so their room was empty. The only sound that he could hear was the quiet bustle of other students trekking up and down the hallway.

Paranoid, he turned on the shower to a full blast, keeping the water settings on cold. He chugged water from the sink, drinking to the point where he thought it was going to come back up even without his help.

Alex leaned over the toilet, jabbed his fingers to the back of his throat, and let his body do the rest.

Afterward, hand slick with vomit, shame burning the back of his throat rather than bile, he stripped off his clothes and finally turned the shower setting to warm.

He climbed in and let warmth cascade over his body. He was cold, on the inside and out, and the water felt good on the numbness that had rooted itself in his chest cavity.

He lifted his face towards the spray and pretending that the tears trickling down his cheeks were from the steady stream of water.

X

Every breath hurt. Every reverberation from the soles of his shoes up to his shoulders ached. Every beat, every thought, every motion, was excruciating.

Alex kept running.

His heart did it's usual shudder-thing, barely keeping up with his broken-down body, and he sucked in air, pretending that he wasn't about to pass out.

Because he wasn't about to pass out. He wasn't. He was fine.

 _I'm okay I'm okay I'm okay-_

He took sick satisfaction from the pain coursing through his veins. He deserved it. It was worth it.

 _You deserve it, this is worth it, you deserve it, this is worth it-_

His brain never shut off, couldn't shut off. Memories scraped by on a never-ending loop, drudging up unwanted thoughts and long-buried feelings.

 _Murderer. Fuck-up. Broken, shattered, broken, shattered._

His mind circled. Again and again and again.

 _I am broken. I am tainted. I am impossible to love._

 _I am broken. I am tainted. I am impossible to love._

X

"I love you," John whispered, and his fingers grazed the waistband of Alex's jeans, slipping his thumb underneath the material. Alex pushed harder, deepened the kiss, and let his hands slip underneath John's shirt. He broke away for a second and lifted the offending shirt over John's head, flinging it off somewhere unknown.

His own shirt was already off, strewn across the end of the bed, and Alex pressed himself back up against John, feverish and hot. John's hands played at his waist, dancing around his hips. His hands dipped underneath Alex's jeans, under his boxers, and just like that, there's a grimy brick wall pushing itself into his back and unwanted hands scouring his body and stop stop stop-

The word burst out of his mouth, splattered against the walls and the ceiling in neon colors, too bright to be ignored. John jerked away from him, eyes wide, mouth agape.

Alex pulled away, skin tight and burning, hot embarrassment rising inside of him.

"I'm sorry." Whispered words that coated his mouth, shame-filled and broken.

"What'd I do wrong?" John's face was open and worried, concern evident in his expression.

"It's-it's not you," Alex answered weakly, and he snatched up his shirt and tugged it over his head. "I'm sorry," he repeated and got up. He rammed his feet into his tennis shoes, grabbed his coat, and left before John could say anything, leaving him swimming in confusion and worry.

X

Alex's feet slapped the pavement. He didn't know where he was running, where he would end up. He only knew that if he was running maybe he could outrun his thoughts, too.

 _Brokenshatteredbrokenshattered-_

God, he was so _stupid_.

Nicholas's voice dug its claws into his brain, sunk its talons deep into the crevices.

 _You'll never get rid of me. I'll be here, always._

Alex had proof that the dead could still be living.

 _Run away from your problems, Alexander. Run and don't look back._

His heart burned. His lungs heaved. His brain was broken.

He kept going.

X

The first time he passed out was in Washington's.

They were in the middle of their debate on the amendments, and Jefferson was babbling on about their First Amendment right and how they had rights over one thing or another.

Alex wasn't paying attention. He should have been, he knew that. But he wasn't.

Instead, he was focusing on the way the floor bubbled and pitched underneath his feet every time he shifted his weight. The way the room tilted and spun if he moved to fast or blinked the wrong way.

Washington's voice was static in the background. Alex heard his name somewhere in the buzz, and he looked up sharply.

Bad idea.

He clutched the podium like a lifeline as the lecture hall warped and twisted, swaying in a gentle breeze, and then he was on the floor with no idea how he got there.

Jefferson and Washington were crouched next to him, Jefferson's mildly concerned face and Washington's frantic one looming above him.

"Alexander, are you alright?" Washington never called him Alexander. Alex must have really freaked him out.

He sat up slowly, and Washington put his hand on Alex's shoulder. "Maybe you should stay down, son."

Alex shook his head, then winced as the room shook with it. "No really, I'm fine. I haven't slept very well the past few nights. I'm okay, I promise."

Washington's face was skeptical, but he let Alex up, helping him stand and lean against the podium.

"Per school rules, you're dismissed for the rest of the day. Go back to your room and catch up on some sleep. I don't want to see you in here tomorrow, either," he added, and Alex's shoulders slumped.

Jefferson helped him gather his things and walked him out of class.

"You gonna be okay walking by yourself?" he asked, and Alex was taken aback by the gruff compassion in his voice.

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

Jefferson nodded and turned to head back to the classroom. He stopped short a second later and turned back around. "Take care of yourself, Hamilton. I don't want anything like this happening again if we work together on another project."

Alex nodded.

Huh, Jefferson caring. It was a nice surprise.

X

Alex dumped his bag onto the floor as soon as he got back into his room. A whole day without classes was ahead of him.

A whole day without work, without distraction.

He didn't know whether to be happy or terrified at the prospect of being alone with his thoughts.

After fooling around for twenty minutes on his phone, he set it down and looked around their room. It was messy-clothes strewn on the floor, pens and office supplies scattered across the desks, dirty coffee mugs stacked on top of Charlemange's tank.

Alex kicked off his shoes and got to work.

Pens were corraled back to their holders, clothes were put in the hamper, mugs washed in the common room kitchen (that he never used). In half an hour it was practically spotless.

That still left God knewn how long until John was done with classes.

Maybe Washington was right. Maybe he should rest.

He changed into flannel pajama pants and a baggy sweatshirt and crawled into bed, tugging the thick blanket around himself.

He was out in ten minutes.

X

This time, instead of nightmares, a hand gently shaking his shoulder woke him up.

Alex blinked, hazy after his nap. John was standing over him, a small, confused smile on his face. "What are you doing here?"

Alex ducked around the question. "What time is it?"

"Around two."

Holy crap. He'd slept for six hours.

"Why aren't you in class?" John repeated, and Alex struggled for a response.

"Professor called in sick. Gave us class off. I took a nap instead."

John nodded, then glanced around. "Did you...clean in here or something?"

"Yeah," Alex said, and sat up. "Why, is something wrong with it?"

"No, no, I just...didn't think that you'd have time." John took in the mug-less tank cover. "It looks good."

He paused for a second. "I'm heading over to the library to study, if you want to come with. Some of the people from my Biochem class will be there, but they won't bother you."

Alex shook his head, "Nah, I think I'm gonna go for a run."

Something in John's expression flickered. Disappointment, maybe. "Okay. Be careful." He opened the door and shot Alex a small smile before closing it behind him.

X

The night sky twinkled brightly above him, casting moonlight off of the snow. It was like someone had sprinkled diamonds over a velvet backdrop, hung the moon like a shining opal.

It was two in the morning. And Alexander was running.

For the third time today, if you counted running from your problems.

He'd run while John was studying. Done sit-ups afterward, no matter how much he was gasping from the painful thumping in his chest. Skipped eating, instead opting for a few cucumber slices and a whole lot of coffee.

He couldn't sleep. He guessed his brain had decided he had gotten enough sleep from the nap he took earlier. The coffee probably wasn't helping.

But now-now he was running. Flying through campus, fast enough that his thoughts couldn't follow him, fast enough that his mind went blissfully blank.

And then-

 _Bam._

Alex was sprawled on the ground, ice and blood caking his hands. The patch of black ice glinted in the moonlight, harsh and taunting.

He sighed and hauled himself up. Tomorrow he'd be covered in bruises-he was not looking forward to that.

A part of him wanted to lay back down, let the snow cover him and let his body sink into the ground, be able to finally rest.

Another, stronger part scolded him about how he needed to stop thinking about himself and start caring about others.

X

It was gloomy out, with gray, billowing clouds casting shadows over the campus. The temperature was a wonderful 25 degrees, and John had suggested coffee as a pick-me-up instead of just laying around waiting for Elijah to turn up the freaking heaters.

Snow had drifted across the sidewalks, and Alex regretted the fact that he hadn't worn boots when he stepped into a particularly high drift and it had gone over his ankles.

"I could carry you," John suggested laughingly, and Alex shook his head, letting pride take over. "Never."

The coffee shop was roasting compared to the weather outside, and Alex immediately stripped off his coat when they stepped inside. A short line snaked back from the cash register, and Alex got in behind a girl with curly auburn hair and heavy black glasses.

They ordered, Alex with his black coffee and John with some sugary latte mix, and headed to the counter to wait for their drinks.

"Yo, Hamilton."

John tensed and Alex turned around. Jefferson smirked at him, and Alex nodded to him. "Sup?"

"Do you know if Washington's graded our stuff yet or not? I want to know if I'm still beating you at the top of the class."

"Oh please," Alex rolled his eyes, "I'm at the top and you know it."

John's wary expression melted to a confused one, and Jefferson glanced over. "Laurens, calm down. We're cool, got it?"

He turned back to Alex. "So how're you feeling?" he asked. "You better not pass out again."

John's eyes widen and flicked over to Alex. "What?"

"Yeah, he passed out in History the other day," Jefferson said, oblivious to the growing tension.

John turned to Alex, "Why didn't I know about this?"

Alex's eyes darted between John and Jefferson's faces for a few seconds. "I-I-"

John's expression twisted, and Alex didn't fail to notice the way his hand tightened around his latte.

Jefferson's order was called, and he shouldered his way past Alex to snatch up his cup. "Gotta go. See ya later, Hamilton. Laurens." He nodded a little in John's direction and left, leaving John staring at Alex.

Without a word, John pushed past Alex and breezed out of the cafe, Alex hurriedly scurrying behind him. He had to jog to catch up with John, whose long strides ate up the ground at a fast clip.

"John, I-"

"Don't." John's voice was steely, icy cold and thick. "Just don't."

"John-"

John stopped and whirled around so fast that Alex almost plowed into him. His eyes were angry, so so angry, and Alex took a step back.

"I'm so fucking pissed at you right now, Alexander, I can't even talk, because I know I'll say something I'll regret. So please, for once in your life, just _shut. Up._ " The last two words were yelled, echoing around the barren campus, and a few students turned to see where all the commotion was coming from.

Alex managed to swallow around the lump in his throat. "Okay," he said softly, and John turned away.

The dorm was lively when they got back, with other students running around and chattering excitedly. John shoved past everyone and pushed his way up the stairs, Alex numbly following behind.

John flipped on the lamp when they got into their room, bathing the space in a harsh light, and threw his jacket on his bed. When he faced Alex his expression wasn't angry anymore. Instead, it was a whole mixing pot of emotions-anger was there, of course, but it was saturated with concern, desperation, and a touch of terror.

"What the fuck is going on, Alex?"

Alex fumbled, words tripping over themselves. "I just-you know-not sleeping, and..."

"No!" The anger was back, and John's eyes snapped at him, crackling, "Stop the bullshit. Right now."

"I'm not bullshitting you!" Alex exclaimed, and John shook his head, striding towards him.

"STOP LYING!" He screamed, and Alex flinched back, automatically bringing his arm up to protect his face. John stopped in his tracks.

Quiet settled over the room as both boys stood, broken trust laying in cracked pieces on the floor between them.

"Alex. Alex, look at me."

Alex lifted his eyes and stared at John.

"You gotta tell me if you're okay." John's voice was pleading. "Please, Alex. I can't-I can't do this anymore."

Alex thought back to the purging. The binges. The running. The calorie counting.

"I'm okay."

X

A hand slapped a paper down in front of him, a big, fat red F bleeding across the top.

"See me after class." Professor Abigail's voice was tight. Alex stared at the paper, cold waves of dread washing over him.

As other students filed out, he stayed seated, waiting for the inevitable. He didn't understand. His writings were good, great, even. So what was the problem?

Professor Abigail walked over, her boots clicking on the tile floor, and took a seat next to Alex, gazing at him with intelligent eyes.

"What's been going on here, Alex?"

The question took him by surprise, and he blinked uncomprehendingly. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Your works. They don't seem like you at all."

He'd written about happy things, kind thoughts and upbeat words. He was putting down positive poems and stories, pushing to make his words seem happy.

Anything that sounded the opposite of what was actually going on in his life.

Professor Abigail met his gaze."Is there anything going on that I need to know about? Are you alright?" The soft concern in her voice grated on Alex's pride. He set his jaw and straightened his posture.

"I'm fine."

She nodded, and Alex caught a smidge of disbelief in her eyes.

"Okay."

X

 _So fucking stupid, you fucking idiot-_

How could he have let this happen? How had he screwed up this epically in such a short amount of time?

 _You really screwed the pooch on this one, didn't you, Alexander?_ Nicholas's sneering voice slithered into his conscious.

He'd worked so hard, so tirelessly, for what? So that John could be pissed. So that he could disappoint Professor Abigail. So that Professor Washington probably thought he was losing his mind.

Maybe he was losing his mind.

Was he losing his mind?

No, Alex decided. He knew what that felt like. To have the world drop out from under your feet and stop caring, to stop thinking.

This wasn't it.

But it was damn close.

God, he'd fucked up bad, hadn't he? He'd destroyed all of his relationships. John's trust in him was all but lost, Lafayette and Hercules were worried, he hadn't spoken to the Schuylers in weeks. He'd secluded himself, cut off the rest of the world, while he ran and wrote and avoided food like the plague.

He deserved punishment for it.

He wanted to hurt. He wanted to purge.

Alex shoved back his desk chair. John was gone, every time he came back he'd leave almost as soon as he got home at this point.

 _Like he can't stand the sight of you._

Alex didn't blame him.

He grabbed a cup and headed into the bathroom. Fuck the fact that he hadn't eaten in a day or so; if he wanted to make himself vomit, he would.

He turned the tap on and filled the cup, then chugged it as fast as he could. Kneeling in front of the toilet, he shoved his fingers into his mouth, as far as they could go.

His stomach screamed. His throat felt ripped and raw, torn to shreds from all the purging.

 _Fuck it, you deserve it._

 _Brokenshatteredrokenshattered-_

He didn't stop, even when he was spitting bile. Even when he thought he was going to pass out.

Even when he saw the blood.

And he saw it, too. Bright, crimson red, splashed across the white porcelain.

It was the last thing his eyes processed when his heart seemed to burst in his chest, when it gave out under the strain.

The blackness came, rushing in to take him away.

X

 **Hey everyone! Wow, thank you for all the feedback and kind words, I love you guys so much! (But you already knew that.)**

 **Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon, I just have to do some tweaking and editing.**

 **If you guys want some more of this fic, hop on over to my new tumblr, wrotemyowndeliverancewritez. I'll be posting one-shots and new chapter sections there every week, plus spoiler sections from my up-and-coming chapters.**

 **And please remember that if you ever need to talk, my PMs are always open :)**

 **Sorry to everyone who wants to beat me for abusing my baby Alex, but the angst only gets angstier from here haha :D**


	25. Chapter 23

**TW: hospitals, disordered eating, thoughts on disordered eating, therapy, razors**

X

Lafayette knocked on the door gently. Alex should have been in his room, he didn't usually leave after classes unless John made him go somewhere.

He finally took out his key and turned the knob, opened the door. It was quiet, unsettlingly so. And empty. Dark.

The bathroom light was on, casting a buttery glow across the hardwood floor. Laf took leaned into the room, stepping over the threshold. "Alex?"

He took another step, then another. It was obvious that Alex wasn't there, but a voice in the back of his mind told him that something was wrong. Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

Alex wouldn't have left the bathroom light on. He was a stickler for that sort of thing, all about conserving energy and saving fossil fuels.

Lafayette strode over to the bathroom. The door was halfway shut, spilling light onto his feet. Laf tried to push it open, but it caught on something, bouncing back in his face.

He peeked in, still focused trying to push the door open, when his eyes landed on a still figure lying on the floor.

"Oh, mon Dieu."

Dried blood crusted the corners of Alexander's mouth, stark against his deathly pale skin. He was sprawled across the floor, and a small part of Laf realized that Alex's foot had been the object blocking the door.

His eyes took in the bathroom: the toilet, lid up, with what looked like blood and vomit mixed in the bowl. The way Alex's shoulder blades jutted from his body, like the wings of a baby bird. The fact that Laf could count the knobs on Alex's spine through his thin T-shirt.

He was already punching 911 into his phone before his knees hit the bath mat next to Alexander's prone form.

X

The first thing Alex was aware of the was the sound.

A mechanical beeping, pushing its way into his brain, searing his ears and cracking his skull open.

Next was the whiteness as he slowly opened his eyes and immediately shut them. It was so, so white, so blindingly bright that when combined with the beeping split his head apart.

All he wanted to do was sleep, he hadn't done that in ages. And it felt so good...he wanted to go back to where he had been before, back to the comforting blackness and the beautiful silence.

But damn, his chest hurt, God, what the hell had happened to his chest to make it hurt that bad?

His forced his eyes open, hoping to find out what was making his chest ache, when he realized something.

He wasn't in his own bed.

The sheets were scratchy, thin. The bed was harder, seemed to be thinner.

Everything suddenly rushed to him-the tubes leading from his face and arms, the wires connected to his chest, the heart monitor clipped to his finger.

Which only meant one thing.

He was in a hospital.

Memories hit him all at once-the purge, the exploding feeling in his chest, the blackness swooping in to catch him.

"Oh shit."

The words left his mouth hoarsely, coming out as a groan, and he heard movement from his left side.

"'Oh shit' is right."

Alex slowly turned his head to see a scowling, albeit relieved, Lafayette. He, John, and Hercules were seated in hospital chairs along the wall, and John was already pushing himself up to grab Alex's hand.

"You scared the hell out of me," he said, and he leaned down to hug Alex, careful not to jostle any tubes or wires.

Hercules hauled himself out of his chair, "I'll go tell the doctor he's awake."

Laf was watching Alex with a face full of mixed emotions-concern, frustration, relief. His lips were pressed tightly together, to the point where they were almost white.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Alex finally managed to get out, and Laf snorted. "Good, 'cause I wasn't scared, I was fucking terrified."

"Laf!" John shot him a look, then moved his gaze back to Alex, a pained look in his eyes. "Do you...remember anything? What happened?"

Alex opened his mouth, then shut it. There were so many words, so many things he wanted to say, but none of it wanted to come out willingly.

It was at that exact moment when the nurse decided to push through the doors, followed by the doctor and Hercules.

Hercules took a seat next to Laf, inconspicuously twining their fingers together, and the doctor approached Alex, a clipboard resting in his hands. He was taller, with brown hair slightly streaked with gray, and laugh lines crinkling along his eyes.

"Hello, Alexander, I'm Dr. Mitchells. How're you feeling?"

Alex studied him. "I'm fine. And you can call me Alex, if you'd like."

Dr. Mitchells smiled at him and flipped a paper on his clipboard. "So I see that you're in here today because your friend found you passed out in your room. Any idea how that might have happened?"

Alex's eyes flicked over to his friend group for a microscopic second, wondering who had found him. "Nope. No idea."

Laf's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth. Dr. Mitchells beat him to the punch. "Okay, well, Alex, your chart here says that you're dehydrated, malnourished, and 15 pounds underweight."

A deadly silence settled over the room. Alex's tongue felt like lead in his mouth as he heard John suck in a sharp breath.

The word "relapse" spun around his head, sticking like glue, until it settled, bitter and foul tasting, on his tongue, heavy and disgusting.

The words that came out of his mouth, however, were completely different.

"I'm fine."

A slap echoed throughout the room as Lafayette's hand came down on the seat of his chair, eyes blazing.

"I found you, Alexander. I found you, dying, and you want me to believe that you're fine?"

"Because I am!" Alex protested, and Dr. Mitchells intervened before the argument could get out of hand.

"There are treatment centers-" he started, and Alex immediately shook his head. "No."

"Alex-" John started, and Alex whipped his head to look at him. "I said _no_ , John. I'm not going into treatment."

"There are other options," Dr. Mitchells added. "Out-patient, group therapy."

Alex scoffed. Group therapy? So he could spend time talking about his _feelings_ and how he was _so sad_ and how his _"eating disorder"_ screwed up his life?

Fuck that. No way in hell was he going to do that.

"Alex, I know you've been diagnosed with EDNOS-"

Alex resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"-And that you probably feel like you don't have a problem. But the thing is, eating disorders are all-consuming. You don't see the problem until it's too late. And right now, it's not too late to help your body become healthy again."

Alex silently sneered at the man before him. Dr. Mitchells stared back at him, an open, understanding look on his face.

Alex hated it.

"Alexander, I'm going to recommend you to a therapist. Your regular doctor and I have been talking-"

Evie had gotten involved? Anger swelled in his chest.

"-And we believe we've found you a good match. We'll also be starting you on meal plans and weekly checkups. " He paused, letting the information sink in. "We just want the best for you, Alex."

"Oh, _fuck_ you!" The words were out of his mouth before he could think, and John's eyes widened. "Alex!"

"You don't want the best for me! You just want your lousy paycheck and some good karma about helping poor, inconvenienced kids. Well, guess what, _buddy_ , I don't need your help. So you can just _fuck off_ and leave. Me. Alone." His voice was nearing shouting range, and John stood up quickly from beside his bed, grabbing his wrist. (He didn't fail to notice the fact that he could easily wrap his entire hand around Alex's arm.)

" _Alexander_! That is _enough_!"

Alex sneered at Dr. Mitchells, who was continuing to watch his episode with a calm expression. "I don't need your _help_ , I don't need your _therapy_ , and I certainly don't need your stupid, fucking _treatment_!"

Dr. Mitchells blinked at him, a soft smile coming to rest across his features. "I'm very sorry you feel that way Alex. I hope that in time you will come to see that we're trying to help you, but for now I will be in touch with Dr. Brown and your recommended therapist." He stood up, flipping the papers back over on his clipboard, and walked out, the nurse following suit.

Alex glared daggers at the now shut door, fury coursing through his veins. John was staring at him, a surprised, anger-tinted look on his face.

"Alexander, was that really necessary?"

"Fuck off," Alex muttered, and he turned away from John, facing the wall.

Behind him, Laf spoke quickly, firing words at his back.

"J'espère que tu sais que tu es vraiment stupide en ce moment. Si vous voulez vous tuer lentement, nous ne pouvons pas vous en empêcher, mais j'espère que vous savez que notre confiance a disparu."

 _I hope that you know you're being really fucking stupid right now. If you want to kill yourself slowly, we can't stop you, but I hope you know that our trust is gone._

Laf paused for a second, and hurt spilled into his words. "Est-ce que tout ce dont nous avons parlé était un mensonge? Ça fait mal, Alex. Tu m'as promis d'arrêter ça. Mais je suppose que vous ne pouvez plus tenir vos promesses, hein?"

 _Was everything we talked about a lie? That hurts, Alex. You promised to me that you would stop this. But I guess you can't keep promises anymore, huh?_

Alex squeezed his eyes shut, letting anger fill him up until there was nothing left.

"Promesses sont faites pour être brisées, Laf."

 _Promises are made to be broken, Laf._

X

Against staff recommendations, alongside his friend's, Alex checked himself out of the hospital, despite John basically having to carry him out to Laf's car, where he curled up and sullenly looked out the window at the landscape flying past.

Per school policy, Alex had three days of no classes ahead of him. Rules were stamped up and down his life now, like some horrible passport.

And there were so many.

No more running. No more sit-ups. No more restriction. He had to eat healthy, calorie-dense foods. Three full meals a day, along with three snacks between those.

He now had to see his recommended therapist every Tuesday, and maintain a steady weight with weekly weigh-ins.

His life-his work- was being destroyed.

When Laf's car pulled into the parking lot, Alex shoved the door open, ignoring John's protests and offers of help. He stumbled his way up the stairs, noting how his heart seemed to wheeze in his chest.

 _Good. Let it give out._

He unlocked his room, all but collapsing onto his bed. The shades were closed, dowsing the space in darkness, and he let his eyes flutter shut. John stepped in silently, quietly letting the door click shut behind him, and settled at his desk. Unease blanketed the room, muffling every sound, until even the sound of Charlemange's tank filter seemed to fade into nothingness.

John finally spoke, breaking the quiet with soft words.

"You have an appointment with Evie tomorrow at 3."

Alex let out a small "hmm" in acknowledgment, keeping his eyes shut.

"I know you're mad at me, Alex. And I'm sorry for that. But I'm sorrier for what you're doing to yourself."

"I'm not mad at you," Alex mumbled, sleep slightly slurring his speech. John barely caught his words as he slipped away.

 _"I'm more mad at myself."_

X

"Oh, Alexander, what are we going to do with you."

Evie gazed at him over her glasses, and Alex could see the sadness saturating her irises.

"You told me you were going to try, Alex." Disappointment was obvious in her tone, and Alex felt himself drawing in, pulling a wall up around his mind.

She moved some papers around on her desk, then turned to her computer and started typing, the keys clacking loudly in the near-silent room.

"So I see that you have an appointment with your therapist on Tuesday, and your meal plans are all drawn up. The only thing we need is-" she paused, spinning her chair to face him, and laced her fingers together.

"A med adjustment."

Alex stared at his hands, waiting.

"Obviously Nortripline isn't working the way it's supposed to. Instead, I think I've found you a good match with something called Venlafaxine. It's an anti-depressant and an anti-anxiety medication, and helps keep up your appetite." Evie settled back in her chair, letting the information sink in.

"Great," Alex finally said numbly. "Cool."

Evie's face fell just the teensiest bit, her composure slipping. "I know this is hard for you. Is there anything you want to talk about?"

She was just being nice, Alex knew that, but at the same time, it was like his brain was misfiring, instead telling him that her tone was one of sickly sweet concern, taunting him.

"I'm fine, thank you," he snapped, and he regretted the words as they hit Evie with an underhanded blow.

She forced herself to nod calmly, trying not to let her emotions get in the way.

"Alright. Well, we'll be moving you from 225 milligrams to 150, then down to 75, 50, and then 25 in the next two weeks or so until you're ready to take Venlafaxine. How does that sound?"

Alex shrugged, picking at his cuticles. A bead of blood welled up, and he wiped it on his jeans, barely feeling the stab of pain. "Fine."

Evie forced a smile. "Wonderful."

X

John went with him to his first therapy appointment, after Alex uncharacteristically broke down and pleaded that he didn't want to go alone.

The office space was decorated tastefully, with a towering plant in the corner that looked like the offspring of a fern and a small tree. Armchairs were scattered throughout the waiting room, along with a small couch pressed against the back wall.

When the receptionist, a tiny woman named Ava with long, brown hair swept into a french braid, called his named, Alex squeezed John's hand before standing up, glancing at John's face for reassurance.

"I'll be right here when you get back," John said, and Alex felt himself relax minimally as he stepped away, following Ava down a hallway with doors down both walls.

They stopped in front of one not too far down the way, and Alex managed to catch the sign next to the door before it opened and an older looking woman with graying carmel hair smiled at him.

 _Eating Disorder Specialization._

The woman beckoned him into the room, and Alex faltered for a second as he stepped in.

He had been expecting something like what he was used to with his old therapist: a cold, vacant space with little-to-no decorations or knick-knacks.

Instead, her office was almost exploding with color. Paintings and tapestries lined the walls, interesting rocks and photos crowded the shelves of a bookshelf bulging with hardcovers, and the chairs were comfy, overstuffed armchairs instead of hard leather couches.

"You can take a seat wherever you'd like," the woman said conversationally, and she settled into the chair by her desk, crossing one leg over the other.

Alex sat in one of the armchairs, holding himself stiffly.

"How about we start with some introductions?" She smiled pleasantly. "My name is Kelsey. I love turtles, swimming, and warm weather. My favorite color is blue, and I live with my wife and our three-year-old son."

Alex blinked. He had a lesbian therapist?

Okay, so _that_ was slightly awesome.

He fiddled with the edge of his shirt, trying to avoid eye contact. He cleared his throat, "I'm Alex. I like writing, I guess. And reading. I'm a freshman in college. I have a boyfriend," he added as an afterthought. "He's pretty cool."

Kelsey's smile grew. "Well, that all sounds pretty neat. Do you have any other hobbies? Friends?"

The rest of the appointment went down the same path, with Alex giving a basic layout of his life and Kelsey getting a feel for future appointments.

When Alex walked out of Kelsey's office, he felt lighter, somehow.

John was waiting in the reception area, reading some trashy magazine that had celebrities latest scandals splashed across the front page, and he looked up when Alex walked back in.

"How'd it go?"

Alex shrugged as John stood up, tossing the magazine back onto the coffee table. "I don't know. It was fine. I like her, she's cool."

A smile lit up John's face. "That's great!"

Alex nodded, his own smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah."

X

Here were the things Alexander Hamilton could do:

Write a killer essay. Argue for hours. Stay awake for three days straight. Make worlds flourish out of his pen, creat palaces out of paragraphs, kingdoms out of ink.

Here's what he couldn't do:

Eat the sandwich sitting in front of him.

It wasn't even something unhealthy, like a BLT or some other fat-filled menace. It was just a sandwich, ham and American cheese on wheat bread, with lettuce and tomato and mayonnaise.

(Alex had started to hate mayonnaise; it was a greasy, fatty, disgusting condiment and it insulted everything he stood for.)

He stared at the sandwich. The sandwich stared back.

"Alex." John's voice broke through his train of thought. "Can you eat, please?"

It was spoken softly, a gentle prod, and Alex resisted the urge to snap back. It wasn't John's fault his brain was fucked up. He was just trying to help.

He gingerly picked up the offending piece of food, held it in his hands. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to put it down, to run away (and burn calories while he was at it).

Instead, he raised the sandwich to his mouth, hesitated, and took a small bite.

His brain started firing off immediately: how much fat was loaded in every inch of mayonnaise, the thickness of the bread.

Panic swelled in his throat. He didn't know the calorie count for this, but he was guessing around 500, at the very least.

That was almost all of his calories for the entire _day_. And that wasn't already counting breakfast, the snack between breakfast and lunch, plus the extra snacks and dinner...

Tears unwillingly pricked in his eyes at the thoughts. It was all so overwhelming-last week he'd been down to 800 calories and dropping. Now he was...was...

A failure. He was a failure.

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he scolded himself. What a fool he must look like, crying over a fucking sandwich, in his college cafeteria, after being discharged from a hospital only four days prior.

He was stronger than this. He was better.

No, he was splintering. He was falling apart. The world was crashing down around his shoulders, as his hard, dedicated work went swirling down the drain.

"Alex? Are you okay?" John's voice quieted the chaos, pushing aside the thoughts pummeling in his brain, and just as quickly anger surged to take their place. He dropped the sandwich and shoved back his chair, leaving his bag and phone behind at the table as he walked out of the cafeteria.

Fuck it. He was done with trying to fix everything.

Inside his mind, Alex was dowsing the place in gasoline.

Screw it. Let it go up in flames.

He was going to watch it all burn.

X

He stepped through the doorway to the shop on campus, leaving snowy footprints on the mat in front of the door. The shop was basically a smaller, cheaper version of some stationery store, like an Office Max or a Staples. It was on campus purely for the convenience of students, and Alex frequented it regularly.

He strolled down one of the aisles, picked up a notebook, then turned and started browsing for pens. As long as he was shopping strictly for school, all of this would be covered in his scholarship.

He picked up a pack of plain black ballpoint pens and turned to leave when his eye caught something.

It was a package of razors, used for opening boxes and such in the arts department. They weren't anything fancy, just plain old razors in crappy cardboard and plastic packaging.

Before he could think, Alex's hand was closing around the pack of razors, and he shuffled them next to his notebook and pack of pens. Hands quivering, he set everything down at the counter, waiting while the cashier rang up the total. It was like he was out of his body, watching from above as something else had complete and total control over what he did.

He paid, then hurried out of the shop, walking at a fast clip down the sidewalk back to his dorm. The razors seemed to be burning a hole through the bag, set on fire by the guilt that was currently swirling around in his stomach.

The minute he stepped into his room, he snatched the razors out of the bag and headed into the bathroom. John was gone, probably getting coffee or studying at the library.

Alex's eyes scoured the room, looking for a good hiding place. He knew having them in one place wouldn't be smart, so he carefully took them out of their packaging and rifled through one of the drawers for a roll of medical tape.

He taped one inside the drawer where he kept his hairbrush and hair ties, one to the underside of the sink, and headed back into their room to tape the last one underneath his desk.

Anxiety and excitement were racing through his veins, so fast he couldn't tell one from the other. Alex knew it wasn't healthy, this dependence on self-destruction, but he didn't care. He had given up on being healthy a long time ago.

X

 **Hi, quick side note: I know these chapters kind of jump around a lot, especially emotionally, and I wrote it that way to help you feel the emotional turmoil that goes on when you're battling a mental illness, especially something as serious as an eating disorder. If I'm doing my job correctly (which, let's be honest, I'm probably not), you'll be able to feel that.**

 **My summer has been super busy, so I haven't been able to write that much. I'm currently juggling three jobs, running our farm, riding, dance, and a bunch of other things I won't bore you with. If I don't update that often it's because I'm extremely busy, not because I'm abandoning this story.**

 **As always, stay safe everyone! Love you all!**


	26. Chapter 24

**This is really heavy, so I'm just apologizing now. Author's note at the end.**

 **TW: sexual assault, mention of past self-harm, mentions of drugs, smoking, and alcohol, physical fighting, brief mention of rape**

X

Alex wasn't in a good place.

His thoughts seemed to be backfiring, swimming around in his brain and circulating the wrong way.

He should have expected it. He was going off of his meds, after all, slowly transferring from one antidepressant to another. Side effects were common.

Still, it wasn't right. His head was clouded and thoughts were slippery, hard to hold onto. His schoolwork was scattered, papers unorganized and messy, with ink stains and scratched-out words.

He did what he always did-he pushed through. It was going to be okay.

He promised himself.

It was going to be okay.

X

"Hey, Laurens!" One of Jefferson's posse, Charles Lee, was calling behind them, snickering. "Laurens!"

They walking the hallway of the History building. John had come to pick Alex up so that they could walk to Creative Writing together.

"Fuck off, Lee," John growled, and he kept walking. Alex glanced over his shoulder. Lee was smiling, a cruel look on his face.

"Yo, Laurens! I heard your boyfriend was in the hospital a while ago! Did he finally try and kill himself or something? He'd be doing us all a favor-"

The crack of bone cut him short as John's fist connected with his cheek and sent both of them sprawling across the tile floor. Lee howled, then yelped and tried to dodge the next punch, which hit him in the jaw. John scrambled on top of him, eyes wild, and slammed his fists at any unprotected bit of skin he could see.

All around them students were yelling and cheering, and Alex stood in shock, his mouth hanging open. Lee finally managed to get in a lucky hit, and John tumbled off of him, blood dripping steadily from a cut above his eye. Lee tackled him, knocking the breath out of John, who still managed to get in a knee to the chest on his way down. Lee let out a gasp, stunned, and John grabbed a fistful of his shaggy brown hair, raising Lee's head above the floor.

"JOHN!" Alex's yell cut through the commotion, and John looked up and locked eyes with Alex. He looked back down, and shock swam across his face as he realized what he was about to do. He dropped Lee's head as though he had been burned.

"WHAT THE _HELL_ IS GOING ON HERE!"

Washington's booming shout sent students scrambling, and Alex snatched John's wrist and hauled him up, shoving the taller boy behind him. Lee lay gasping on the floor like a fish out of water, blood from what looked like a broken nose streaming down his face and chin.

Washington took in the scene, nostrils flared and eyes narrowed in anger. "Somebody take Mr. Lee to the infirmary," he said coldly, and Burr appeared, materializing out of the crowd like a ghost before shunting Lee off.

"Laurens, Hamilton. My office. Now." Washington's voice shook with rage, and Alex knew they were in for it.

X

Washington shut the door heavily, almost slamming it, and moved to stand behind his desk, leaning on it with both hands.

He studied both boys before opening his mouth.

"Would one of you kindly tell me what the hell that was?"

"It was my fault, sir," John said immediately before Alex could say anything. "I instigated the fight. It was a lapse in judgment. It won't happen again."

"You're damn right it won't!" Washington growled. "You could be expelled for this!" He shook his head sadly, a disappointed look settling across his face. "I expected better from you, Laurens."

"It wasn't his fault!" Alex exclaimed, butting in. "Lee, he said-"

Washington raised his hand, shaking his head. "I don't care whose fault it is. It will never happen again. Is that clear?"

Alex opened his mouth to argue, and Washington's eyes flashed. "Is that clear, Alexander?"

Alex snapped his mouth shut angrily. He lifted his chin and met Washington's eyes. "Yes, sir," he said through gritted teeth, and Washington nodded.

"You're dismissed."

X

"You don't have to fight my battles for me!" Alex snapped as soon as their door shut, and John snorted. "Then who will? You've certainly let yourself get pummeled by them all year!"

"You let yourself get beaten by your dad all the time, what's the difference?" Alex shot back, and John's eyes narrowed. "It's called taking one for the team, Alex. But I guess you wouldn't know what that is, would you?"

The thing that left Alex's mouth could best be described as a half-delirious cackle. "Yep, that's right! That's who I am, isn't it? Selfish Alexander, only thinking of himself! Selfish Alexander, don't touch him, he's batshit crazy! He's great with words but don't worry, he'll let you beat him up, because he's weak as fuck!" He was laughing, and John was looking at him like he was crazy.

Nicholas' voice screamed at him inside his head.

"Don't touch Alexander, he doesn't let anyone into his life! Only provides for himself, the last time he let his guard down he got fucked over so badly he's scarred for life! Don't touch Alexander, he'll just freak out again!" Alex put his hands on John's chest and shoved him lightly, "God, you're such a _tease_ , Alexander! God, _shut up,_ Alexander! God, why do you have to be so _weird_ about this, Alexander, you wanted it, _right_?"

"God, Alexander, you're so _selfish_ , why can't you let me do this?"Alec stepped closer to John until they were inches apart. He was so angry he was shaking.

"Guess I was selfish because I said no, right?" he said, his voice cracking, and everything John thought he knew came crashing down into a broken mess at his feet. Alex stepped back, angry tears threatening to spill over. "You want to know where words got me that night?" he asked softly, and lifted his chin. "Nowhere." He turned on his heel and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Alex walked blindly, memories and fury crowding his mind as his feet took him on the familiar path.

 _Nicholas pressed him into a dark, grimy brick wall, and he stared at the white clapboard of the house that bordered the alley, as he drifted away from his body and everything else that was happening-_

 _"Stop. Stop, stop it Nick!"_

 _"C'mon, Alex, you know how long I've been waiting for this-"_

He turned and slammed his fist onto the pine on his right before he could think, splintering bark and sending zinging pain through his hand. He punched it, again and again and again, relishing the blood running from his knuckles. The pine was Nicholas, and that alley, and the scream of Nick's mother, and the EMTs that took his body, and both of those horrible, horrible nights.

Thoughts finally started taking form, and Alex repeated them, a jumbled mantra in his mind.

 _How could you, how could you do this to me how could you leave me how could you hurt me I hate you how could you leave me why wasn't I enough how could you do this to me how how how-_

He turned and slid down the trunk, cradling his hand against his chest as sobs wracked his body.

 _Come back._

X

Lafayette was the one that found him.

Alex had been sitting underneath the pine, letting the blood on his hand dry and blindly staring into the distance, for quite a while. He didn't want to go back. He'd screwed everything up. His big secret was out. He was completely and totally fucked.

Footsteps crunched softly to his left, and then familiar sneakers stopped and crouched down in front of him, and Laf's face appeared. Alex lifted his eyes, and his heart dropped because Laf knew.

Laf knew.

"Oh, Alexander..."

And then Alex was crying, the type of crying that happens when you don't want to cry, because people are watching and it's embarrassing, and then you only cry harder. The type that screws your face up and makes your breath catch and you're sobbing so hard you feel like passing out.

Laf wrapped his arms around Alex and let him sob into his shoulder, and after a few minutes, Alex's gasps turned to words.

"Why didn't he love me?" He choked out, and Laf held him tighter. "He told me he loved me. Why did he lie to me? What did I do wrong?"

"Oh, Alex. You didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't your fault," Laf soothed.

"I miss him." Alex's voice was weak and broken. "I know I shouldn't but I do. I miss him."

"It's okay," Laf said, and he rubbed his hand comfortingly up and down Alex's shaking back. "It's gonna be okay."

X

The walk back to the dorms was silent, occasionally broken by a small sniffle from Alex.

John's face was ashen when Laf quietly pushed the door open. Hercules was sitting next to him the bed, and it looked like they had barged in mid-conversation.

John abruptly stood up, and his eyes swept over Alex, focusing in on the dried blood crusting his knuckles.

He crossed the room and moved to take Alex's hand in his, then stepped back as Alex flinched away.

"I didn't-" John cleared his throat. "I didn't know."

"No one did." Alex laughed humorlessly, eyes trained on the floor. "I didn't want you to know."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you that I'm broken?" Alex seethed. "That I'm tainted?"

"You're not broken, Alex," Laf said softly behind him, and Alex scoffed quietly. "Yeah, okay."

"Is this why-" John started, and Alex interrupted him.

"Why I didn't mess around with you? Why I never let us go anywhere? Yeah. It's 'cause I'm fucked in the head."

"Alex," Laf chided, and Alex shut his mouth, settling on staring at his feet.

It was silent for a few seconds, and then Alex opened his mouth.

"I know it wasn't my fault. I know that, and I don't know why it's still affecting me, it's not like he raped me or anything-" his voice cracked and John stepped closer.

"And he's dead now, but I know I'm the reason. Because he couldn't live with the guilt once he sobered up. Because I didn't love him enough, or I loved him too much, I don't know-" Alex broke off, tears once more dripping down his face. He wiped them away with his sleeve, roughly dragging the fabric across his cheeks.

Hercules silently offered up a tissue from his place on the bed, and Laf took it and pressed it into Alex's hand. A small sob worked it's way up Alex's throat, and John wrapped his arms around him.

"It's gonna be okay," he said, echoing Laf's earlier words, and Alex melted into the embrace, the feeling of safety enveloping him.

X

"You don't have to talk about this, Alex."

It was later in the evening, and Alex was curled up in his desk chair, knees drawn up to his chest. Twilight was slowly dripping through the blinds, slipping across the floor along with light from the streetlights that were turning on.

"I want to talk about it. You deserve an explanation." Alex focused on his nails, which were torn and bedraggled from his habit of biting them.

"When I was fifteen I got sent to this foster home in a rougher part of the city. There was a lot of messed up kids in the neighborhood and the school, and I kept to myself." Alex paused for a second. "I met this guy. His name was Nicholas. He was the first person that I became friends with. He...he was my first boyfriend." He glanced at Lafayette for a second.

"He was an artist, and he liked that I was a writer. His parents didn't really approve of the fact that he was gay, but they dealt with it. A few weeks into our relationship I started realizing things-he smoked a lot, he drank and did some drugs. I thought he would stop, but he didn't."

"I was in a really bad place. I was cutting a lot, restricting, not sleeping. I found out he was a cutter too, and...God, this is going to sound so stupid." Alex shook his head and stared at the window.

"We started having competitions. Like, if he cut a lot, then so did I. It was like we were competing to see who was the most fucked-up. And it's sick, thinking back on it. But at the time, it was the only way I actually felt something. It got to the point where I started smoking too. And drinking, eventually. I just wanted to forget, ya know? I was tired of my life. I hated it, hated what I'd turned myself into."

"And then he started wanting more. He wanted to fool around, and I didn't. He'd call me a tease and tell me I was selfish, because I didn't want to do anything with him. Once he'd be sober again he'd apologize, but until then he was just...mean. And one night he got really, really drunk. And high too, probably. I don't really remember. It kinda just...escalated."

"I swear I said no." Alex's voice shook, and he locked eyes with John. "I swear it."

"After...everything happened...we had a fight. I screamed at him, and I guess I made him feel really guilty, because he went home. I didn't hear from him for three days. And I started thinking, maybe he was right. Maybe I was selfish, maybe I wanted it and I just didn't know it. So I went to his house to apologize, and..."

Alex took a deep breath. "And he was dead. He hanged himself. I found him. And I never got to say sorry."

"I tried killing myself two weeks later. It took me a long time to realize that everything that happened wasn't my fault. I've made peace with it. But it still hurts. I don't think that part of it will ever stop hurting."

Alex looked up. John's eyes were full of unshed tears.

"Alex, what the fuck?" John's voice was wobbly. "What the fuck, why didn't, why didn't you-" His voice broke and tears started to stream steadily down his face.

"Jesus Christ, I'm so fucking sorry Alex."

"It's not your fault." Alex's voice was surprisingly calm, and he gazed at John with a resigned look on his face. "It wasn't your fault, and it wasn't mine. I blame myself for Nick's death, but logically I know I wasn't the one who killed him. I didn't force him to do the things he did."

"I hope you know that you're really strong, Alex." Hercules' voice was steady, but when Alex looked at him his eyes were wet. "You're really fucking brave."

Alex offered up a small smile. "Thanks, Herc. That means a lot."

"I think you should tell Kelsey." Lafayette was the only one with a steady voice. "You need to talk about this."

Alex nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, I know." He sighed. "That means I have to tell Evie, too. And then she'll probably get in contact with the counselor here..." He drifted off, anxiety tightening in his chest.

Everyone would know. It would be on his medical files. It would be in the system. Everyone would know.

He didn't want everyone to know.

"Hey." John had gotten up and made his way over to Alex. He took Alex's face in his hands and smiled a watery smile. "We're going to get through it. Okay?"

Alex wrapped his fingers around John's hand and squeezed it gently.

"Okay."

X

 **So that was dark.**

 **I am a victim of sexual abuse. It's taken me years to own up to that fact, and even now I don't tell that many people. I was assaulted by someone very close to me, whom I trusted with everything-she was my best friend for a long time. For years I told myself that it was my fault, that if I hadn't let it escalate none of it would have happened. Things got considerably worse when I figured out that I was bisexual-I told myself that I had been asking for it, that because I liked girls I had set myself up for the situation.**

 **None of that is true. Assault is assault, no matter what race, gender, sexuality, or ethnicity you are. No means no, in whatever form "no" takes.**

 **I am also a victim of being in an abusive relationship. Yes, even at a younger age than most people. At the time, I was fifteen, like Alex. I was dating this boy, very much like Nicholas. He had a lot of mental health issues, and dealt with them by drinking and doing drugs. He self-harmed, and liked seeing how far he could push me. It got to the point where he was purposefully giving me panic attacks and telling me to self harm, as well as encouraging my eating disorder. He told me a lot of lies, told my friends a lot of lies, and played a lot of mind games with me. I have a lot of trust issues thanks to him.**

 **If you have been a victim of abuse or assault of any kind, speak up. I'm not the poster child for it, but talking to people helps, trust me.**

 **And please remember that you are strong. Admitting that you have been or are a victim is one of the hardest things in the world. If you guys ever need to talk, my messages on all platforms are open.**

 **Love you guys**


	27. Chapter 25

**TW: smoking, depressed thoughts and actions, therapy, panic attacks, purging**

The first time he takes Venlafaxine it's fine for about an hour.

And then the side effects hit.

The headache comes out of nowhere, slamming into his brain with the force of a wrecking ball. His books clattered to the sidewalk, abandoned, as his hands came up to grip the side of his head.

The pain was all-consuming, a howling crescendo that sent a shiver of pain down his body. Through the noise he could make out the feelings of hands guiding him down the sidewalk as John's voice pushed through the crackling static filling his brain.

"Alex? Alex, you gotta talk to me."

"Hurts," Alex managed to ground out, and he almost sank to the ground from the echoing of his voice up in his head.

"Okay, okay. I got you." John's hands were hesitant and gentle, lightly gripping his waist and arm as he helped Alex stumble down the sidewalk and through their dorms.

Alex didn't really remember the walk up the stairs and down the hallway through the haze of pain, but when they reached their room he was more grateful than he had been in a long time.

His bed was a silent cocoon, and he curled up in the nest of blankets after John pushed Tylenol and a cup of water into his hands. The lights were blissfully shut off, dowsing the room in darkness, and he focused on breathing, counting the seconds until the pain started to subside.

It was over an hour until it faded to a dull ache in the back of his head, but it was so much better than the searing throb it had been.

Alex sat up slowly, and John turned from where he had been seating at his desk, writing notes for his BioChemistry class.

"How do you feel?"

"Better," Alex said tentatively. He was worried that if he spoke too soon, it would descend back upon him.

"You want water?"

"Sure."

John got up and fetched a glass of water from the bathroom. He came back and handed it to Alex. "Why do you think that happened?"

Alex took a sip and paused for a second, "Probably a side effect of my new meds. It should go away in a few days."

John nodded, "Let's hope."

X

It was wrong.

Everything felt wrong.

His thoughts were scattered, incomplete. Nothing was making sense.

Was this what it was like being drugged?

He could see people's mouths moving, hear the words they were saying, but his brain couldn't connect. There was a loose wire somewhere, a broken circuit in the hidden crevices of his brain, and he had no idea how to fix it.

His appetite had disappeared altogether. The idea of food made him nauseous, and whenever he ate anything it tasted bland and disgusting, like copper pennies and mashed potatos.

To add onto the bandwagon of issues, his anxiety was cranked up to 11, dialed to the point where he felt like he was vibrating from the pressure.

Panic attacks now frequented his days, leaving him shaky and exhausted. More than once, he'd left class to go sit in the bathroom and hyperventilate.

At first he thought he'd figured out a solution-if he just ignored his anxiety, if he forced it to the back of his mind, he could deal with it until he got home.

Alex had read online somewhere that a tip to help with anxiety was to mentally set it aside and instead of panicking at that exact moment, to pick a time later in the day to acknowledge it and think it through.

It was a great idea in theory, truly. The only problem was that it didn't work.

He'd get home, set his bag down, and a wave of panic would slam into his chest, taking his breath away and inevitably sending him into a panic attack. John had already come home multiple times to find Alex huddled on the floor, trembles running up and down his body as he gasped for breath.

"I think we need to find a new method of dealing with this," John had suggested gently. Alex lay curled up in a loose ball on the bathroom floor, trying to regulate his breathing.

"Mm-hm," he finally managed to get out, and John rubbed his shoulder.

So they made appointments with Kelsey. They made appointments with Evie. Alex followed the guidelines as best as he could.

For a while, it worked.

And then it didn't.

Because midterms were cropping up in the far distance, and his workload was bearing down on him already, and all of this combined with trying to get his mental health back on track-

"I can't, I can't, I can't-" Alex clutched John's sleeve, focusing on trying not to hyperventilate, which was hard because suddenly all of the air in the world had disappeared.

"Yes, you can, Alex. Breath." John's voice was calm, but at the same time, it grated on Alex's ears, too sudden and too loud.

It was too much, all of it was too much, and there was a steel band that was constricting around his ribs, choking the air from his lungs, and the cacophany of sound was overwhelming.

Blackness crept into the edges of his vision, threating to cover his eyes, and he gasped, struggling to keep a grip on reality.

It was not a good day.

He had started to categorize days, at this point. He could tell immediately from the time he woke up if it was going to be a good day or a bad day.

There had been a lot of bad days recently.

There had been a lot of bad days...for a long time.

It was like drowning. Alex had experienced drowning before: the water that sucked you down, the darkness that covered your eyes and stole your breath until you were sucking nothing, until you were nothing.

There had been a lot of bad days recently.

X

The headaches became another thing that was added to Alex's daily life. They'd come out of nowhere, incapacitating him for hours at a time until the pain ebbed. It became routine for him to stagger home and shut off the lights, crawl into bed and sleep half a day away.

He'd begun to accept the fact that anxiety was now more a part of him than it had ever been. The feeling of swelling panic became an everyday occurence, swirling around the edges of his mind and tainting normal thoughts with saturated, over-thought scenarios that he spent way too much time thinking up.

For instance, if he wanted to get up and throw away a piece of paper in class, he'd wait until he'd thought through the exact movements he would make before getting up and walking over there to make sure he didn't make a fool of himself.

It was tiring beyond belief.

From the moment he woke up he craved going back to sleep. He didn't care about the night terrors anymore; in fact, he welcomed them. It was still better than being awake, and that was saying something.

It was saying that something was wrong. Something was off, something didn't fit into the equation anymore.

His life had become a messy blend of so many things that if he thought about them all at once his brain overloaded and he would shut down like a computer. He was his anxiety, his anxiety was him. Where it ended and he began was a blurred, mishapen line that was almost transparent.

Where there is anxiety, there is depression.

Depression followed anxiety around like a devoted dog to its master, always close behind and ready to pounce.

Alex had figured out long ago that if he kept his anxiety in check, his depression would be kept in check too. It one was going smoothly, then so was the other.

Yet, currently, one was spiraling out of control, and with it, so went the other.

The dragging tiredness that followed depression was a complete opposite of the stifling jitteriness of anxiety. At the same time, his eating disorder was yelling at him, screaming at him to run, to exercise, to restrict. It was a flurry of broken commands, all coming from different directions at the speed of a bullet train. His depression tangled with his eating disorder, which wound tight around the frantic scrambling thoughts of anxiety. He felt like a bomb, about to explode yet contained by the confines of a trapping cement bunker.

His head was a mess; a broken, shattered mess. He was terribly numb and burning hot at the same time, almost as though he had frostbite.

And at this point, he was just fucking exhausted.

X

There wasn't any point in sugar coating it.

Alex crashed.

And when Alex crashed, he crashed hard.

Like, walls-tumbling, tree-shaking, registers-on-the-Richter-Scale hard.

He was bad. More than bad. Worse, better, failing, failure, good, bad, indifferent, _depressed_.

His thoughts came in slow drags and lazy words, swimming through a thick current to get to the front of his mind. Moving became barely optional, and he found himself sitting in one place for hours on end, trying to convince his body to get up and _do something_.

His anxiety screamed at a pitch too high to hear properly. Instead, it was an annoying howl blanketed by the weighted gray of sadness.

His depression had taken the wheel, shoving anxiety to the back of the vehicle and pushing his eating disorder out of the way. Eating wasn't even an option anymore; if he couldn't even get out of bed, how could he stomach standing up, walking across campus, and sitting in a cafeteria, surrounded by noise and chaos, to eat some insignificant meal, then turn around and walk back.

Alex knew he was in the thick of it when he started telling the truth.

John, as always, was the first to notice.

"Alex. Hey, Alex. Are you okay?" His voice was a mix of concern and tenderness, blending into a worrying tone.

Alex couldn't even muster up the strength to lie.

"No. I'm not." His voice was tired and rough, like he hadn't spoken in a while. (He hadn't.) "But please, just let me deal with it, okay? I'll-I'll be fine in a few days."

He wasn't.

John went ahead and scheduled an appointment with Kelsey, forcing Alex to drag himself out of bed and drive himself to his appointment (he borrowed Laf's car).

His hands were numb, and he fumbled with the keys before taking them out of the ignition and heading into the building. He smiled at the lady at the front desk (Ava, her name was Ava), and checked in before seating himself in the waiting area.

His name was called after a few minutes, and he pushed himself up from the chair and managed to stroll down the hallway, stopping before the open door that led to Kelsey's office.

As he stepped inside, Kelsey's eyes swept over him, taking in the pajama pants and faded t-shirt he'd tugged on before leaving campus. He hadn't been able to muster up the strength to change into jeans and a nice shirt, and now, as she pressed her lips together, he couldn't find the energy to even care about his appearance.

"Hello, Alex."

Alex sat down and tucked himself into the comfortable leather of the armchair. "Hi, Kelsey."

"How've you been?" She started off every appointment with the same question, and it was slightly comforting, the same old routine in a world of chaos.

Alex shrugged, letting his gaze drop to his hands. "I don't know. I'm okay. But, like I'm not? I don't-I don't know," he repeated lamely, and Kelsey nodded.

"It's okay to feel like that sometimes. I understand you've been having a hard time recently?"

Alex twisted his mouth and squeezed his hands together tightly. "Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Kelsey prodded gently, and Alex shrugged again. "Yeah, I guess." It was silent for a minute while he strung the words together.

"I feel like-I don't know. I feel like I'm moving slow and the world's moving fast. Like everyone is just zooming past me and I can't even walk to my classes without feeling drained. My body is just sluggish and stupid and..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. That sounded really dumb."

"It's not dumb, Alex. Nothing you say is dumb. It's just your way of coping with the hardships you're going through right now, and that's perfectly normal. What we need to work on is getting your brain to start thinking positively when you experience thoughts like that," Kelsey reasoned, and Alex moved his head in a nod.

The rest of his appointment was spent brainstorming coping mechanisms (calling his friends, writing, cleaning) and ways to shut down negative thoughts (stop and think things through, find a distraction, tell himself that it was normal to have thoughts like this).

When he left he felt better. He didn't feel great, he didn't even feel good, but it was nice to get some things off his chest and be able to breathe a little more.

But at the same time, he knew that it wasn't that easy to feel good again.

X

He broke on the drive back.

It began with a slight _ding_ for the gas tank, and Alex swore under his breath, because of course Laf would lend him a car that needed gas, and he just didn't have the energy to deal with it.

He was, as the youths said, straight up not having a good time.

He pulled into a gas station a few blocks from campus and filled up the car, detachedly shivering from the cold. He couldn't really feel it, (he couldn't really feel anything), but his body had taken over and decided that it was cold enough to stand, shivering, in the 25 degree New York winter, in a t-shirt and pajama pants.

So maybe he regretted not grabbing a coat, but it was too late now, and honestly, he didn't have enough fight left in him to care.

He went inside and grabbed a bottle of water, knowing that he hadn't drank anything proper in days other than some coffee and Diet Coke, added some pretzels and chips, and headed over to the counter.

The rack of cigarettes caught his eye as the cashier was ringing him up, and before he could stop himself he was adding a pack of Marlboros and a lighter to his bill.

It was that easy, to slip into old habits. To once again revert back to what he'd done years ago.

Alex gathered his things and stepped back outside into the frigid air, avoiding patches of ice on his way to Laf's car. He blindly got in and turned it on, hearing the engine rumble gently under the hood.

He was blank. He was numb.

A small flame of terror sparked in his brain at the feeling of numbness, but it was detached, out of body.

He parked the car in Laf's usual spot, and sat there, staring at the snowdrifts in front of him. He blindly opened the bag of chips and started eating them, not tasting anything.

He drank the water between bites, then got out of the car, trekked across the snowy sidewalks into his dorm lobby, and went into the boy's bathroom, where he proceeded to stick his fingers down his throat.

Alex felt as though he was watching everything from above, controlling his body with strange cues and jerky movements. It wasn't a comfortable feeling, but it also wasn't uncomfortable. It just...was.

When he was done, his heart was beating erratically, thumping hard in his chest, and, not for the first time, the hope that it would give out crept into his head.

He pushed open the door to the bathroom and went through the lobby, then back outside, where it had started to lightly snow.

He reached into his pocket and took out the pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He deftly pulled a cigarette out and lit it, muscle memory from years past.

He sat, the concrete cold through the flannel of his pants, and smoked, watching the snowflakes flutter through the air, coming to rest on the steps and himself. Smoke wafted away lazily, disappearing into the dark night.

He was fine. He wasn't okay, but he was fine. Here, right now, in this exact moment, Alex could almost convince himself that everything would be okay.

But he had never been a good liar.


	28. Chapter 26

**BIG TW: self-harm (cutting), mentions of purging, smoking**

 **I don't consider this scene to be very graphic, but I know that it could be hard to read so please be warned. Love you guys**

"Alex. You okay?"

He'd been asked that question so many times over the past few weeks that he didn't even know the answer to it anymore.

Still, he plastered on a smile and looked up cheerfully, "Yeah, I'm fine."

He wasn't.

He looked like it on the surface. The bout of severe depression from last week had withdrawn, tucked itself back into the dark corners of his brain until the next time it decided to creep out. His anxiety wasn't faring much better, but it had disapated a little, fading to a buzzing in his chest instead of a crushing crescendo.

He couldn't bring himself to eat. It was a fight, a war, and he was losing by a milestone. Whenever he could, he'd escape to the bathroom after meals, purging as soon as possible.

Smoking was added to his list of bad habits. John would leave, headed to the library with his study groups or to classes, and Alex would troop downstairs, stand out on the steps, and smoke.

It wasn't every day, but it was enough to make him feel calmer, to slow down the anxiety and take the weight off of his chest. He was well aware of the fact that he would inevitably be caught, probably sooner rather than later, but at this point, he was so far past caring it wasn't even funny.

He started running again, against doctor's orders. None of his friends were happy about it, and Eliza had pulled him aside to tell him about the effects of what he was doing to his body.

"Alex, you could develop stress fractures. Do you understand that? Or your heart could give out again. Any number of things could happen." Her eyes were pleading, and he felt a small stab of regret.

"I'll be fine, 'Liza. Really. I've gained weight, my heart doesn't hurt anymore. I'm fine." He smiled at her, reassuring, and saw her resolve crack.

"Just be careful, okay Alex? Promise me you'll be careful."

He took her hand in his and squeezed it. "I promise."

Another lie added to the quickly growing pile.

X

Alex stopped sleeping.

He wanted to sleep, he _craved_ it. But whenever he laid down, thoughts came rushing in, fueled by anxiety and depression. They ran circles, repeating themselves over and over until they blended into one monotonous thought.

 _Failure. Failure. Failure._

He can't write anymore, either.

The words wouldn't come smoothly. Instead, they came in choppy, stinted sentences, all broken and...wrong. So, so incredibly wrong.

And without the ability to write, to have some sort of release, he was left with smoking and running. Sometimes running and then smoking. Most days he'd sprint down to the bridge and stall for a few minutes, take a few drags of a cigarette while his heart wheezed erratically under his ribs.

He'd lied to Eliza by quite a lot. If anything, he had lost whatever little weight he'd gained in his week or so of recovery, and was continuing to drop by the pound. His heart hurt constantly, making his chest ache when he ran for too long or pushed it while exercising. Sometimes he'd fantasize about what would happen when it finally foundered, leaving him in a gasping, dying puddle on the floor. He tried not to think about it too much, but still found himself dwelling on it probably more than he should have.

His mental state was starting to reflect on his schoolwork, and he found himself having lost the desire to write essays or poems for class. This made Creative Writing a hassle that he dealt with daily, and he dreaded having to walk into class every day and see Professor Abigail sitting cheerily at her desk. Her mood would falter just the tiniest bit when she laid her eyes on Alex, and he could see the palpable disappointment in her expression.

He had gone from top of the class to floating somewhere in the middle of the pack as his writings became sub-par, and more often than not he was one of the first students to leave when she dismissed them, no longer sticking around to discuss technique or deeper meaning behind the books they read.

In all honesty, he just didn't have the energy to keep up with his schoolwork anymore. He was past the honeymoon phase, past the happy, over-zealous student he had once been. Now he was dragging, barely keeping his head above water by getting his work in on time.

He wished with all his heart that he could go back to the beginning of the year, back to the kid with stars in his eyes because he was in _Kings College_ and he'd gotten in on a _scholarship_ and there were a million things he hadn't done. The world was bright and new and exciting, with opportunities around every corner.

Now, he was washed out. Exhausted. His motivation was gone, out the window. He knew he was probably close to losing his scholarship, and a part of him didn't even care. That scared him, the part that didn't care, because he knew he should care, knew that something was most definitely wrong if he didn't.

He was tired. He was so tired. There was a hurricane screaming around him, and he was standing, numb, in the eye of it, in the forced calm, with no idea how he was going to get out.

X

Professor Abigail often greeted students as they came into class by standing at the door and making conversation with them, and today was no different.

As Alex nodded at her and pushed through the door, her hand brushed his shoulder lightly, and he turned to look at her. Professor Abigail smiled calmly at him, "I'd like to see you after class, Alexander."

The hour and a half seemed to drag by, and by the time it was over Alex was itching to just get his meeting over with and go home. He watched as the rest of the class filtered out slowly, and when they had left he gathered his things and walked over to Abigail's desk.

"You wanted to speak to me?"

She looked up, the light from her laptop reflecting in her glasses, and motioned for him to sit down.

"As I'm sure you're well aware, you've fallen behind in your classwork. To be quite frank, Alex, your work seems forced and dry. I know this isn't what you usually produce. Is there anything going on that I should be worried about?" Her eyes were kind and caring, and Alex felt taken aback by the question.

"No, um, nothing," he stuttered, and she nodded slowly.

"Okay, then. I don't often do this, but I've taken a liking to you. I'm offering you an extra credit piece, a way to boost your grade. Nothing big, just a simple poem on anything of your choosing." She paused. "I want it to be real though, Alex. Something from the heart. Make it emotional, make it dramatic, anything as long as it's honest."

Alex nodded. "Okay. I-I appreciate it, professor." His voice as quiet and withdrawn, and Abigail offered him a soft smile. "You're dismissed, Alex."

He stood up and shouldered his bag, leaving the classroom quickly. So she wanted honest, huh?

He'd give her honest.

X

It was impossible to think while your brain wasn't cooperating, and even more impossible when your hands weren't either.

Alex sat at his desk, twirling a pen mindlessly between his fingers. He'd been sitting there for the past half hour, watching the numbers tick by on the alarm clock at the edge of the desk. He didn't have any ideas, any thoughts that might have been useful. He was just sitting there, doing...nothing.

He found himself doing nothing quite a lot, lately. Doing nothing took no effort, wasted no energy. And it was relaxing, letting your brain just _be_.

Until the thoughts crept in, and then he found himself having to do _something_ , because otherwise it was an overwhelming tide of _failure, failure, failure_ washing in over the previous calm.

A memory crested the wave in his mind: John, spinning slowly in his desk chair, saying _"All you have to do is write about yourself."_

He'd responded with, _"I hate myself."_

The words looped, over and over. _I hate myself._

Well, he could certainly go off of that, couldn't he? There was an endless well beneath those words, waiting to be unearthed and dug up.

That could be real. That could be honest.

If Professor Abigail wanted honest, then he was going to give her honest.

He opened his laptop, settled his fingers lightly over the keys. It didn't feel right (nothing did anymore), but he forced himself to write, forced himself to ignore how choppy and just plain wrong it felt.

Alex finished in under 20 minutes, and sat back to marvel at how fast he could still get something out. It wasn't his best work, not by a long shot, but it still rustled up a feeling of how good it was to actually make something, instead of sitting and wallowing in self-pity.

He attached the file to an email to Professor Abigail, sent it, then logged off and shut his laptop.

X

A fight occured every morning, from the moment Alex woke up to the time he rolled out of bed and set his feet on the ground.

He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to face the world.

Every day began like this:

There was a distinct buzzing in Alex's chest, a jittering that sat behind his ribcage and made him feel almost as though he was about yawn, but it was sharper than that. The best way he felt that he could describe it was that the color yellow was swirling around in his chest cavity, bursting in fractals and sharp edges.

It made him toss and turn and finally get up, even though the only thing he could really do was sit there and breathe, and keep breathing, because it was too much. It was overpowering.

Otherwise it was the numbness. It hovered, heavy and dull, like a cloud of smoke in his brain and stomach, leaving him slowly sinking to the bottom of the Mariana Trench, staring up at the light fading throught the water up above him, knowing that if he just tried hard enough, he could make it to the surface. And it was just like anxiety: overpowering.

It was a different kind of overpowering, though. Anxiety left him on edge and jittery, fumbling fingers and sharp breaths.

Depression made him slow, so slow he was sure he was moving through syrup. Words came through a garbled filter, too fast or too slow to be processed.

Today he was numb.

And he was _tired_. Tired of being numb, tired of blanked out, tired of being immune to feeling good anymore.

He hauled himself out of bed, feeling like he was made of concrete, and sent his body through the motions of getting dressed and making coffee. Coffee didn't even really do anything for him anymore, but he was a creature of habit, and slightly addicted to caffeine, so he drank it anyway and thanked God for the slight boost of energy.

He didn't bother to make his bed. His blankets sat in a sad lump on his bed, left from wherever he tossed them when he got up. He didn't care enough to make his bed anymore.

Alex sat through History, taking notes and doodling mindlessly between the margins in his notebook. Washington would glance at him from time to time, probably waiting for his to jump in or answer a question. Alex stayed silent.

He dragged himself to Creative Writing, and nodded to Professor Abigail as he stepped through the doorway. Her gaze lingered on him for a few seconds, her smile dropping the slightest bit, and then she tore her eyes away and focused on another student that was walking in behind him, forcing her lips back up.

Alex dropped into his seat and pulled out a notebook. He didn't pay attention to her reaction; frankly, he wouldn't have cared even if he had seen it.

Class started, and Alex forced himself to try and focus on what was happening on the board and the notes on theme he was supposed to be taking. Somehow he managed to miss each and every one of the brief worry-tainted glances Professor Abigail threw at him throughout the class period.

The class ended after a long, dragging hour and a half, and Alex started to pack up his things. Professor Abigail looked over her glasses at him as other students filtered out of the room.

"Alex, I'd like to have a word with you."

He slowed his roll, looking up as he settled his notebook between his binder and novel in his bag.

Professor Abigail made his way over to him, dodging a girl with red highlights, and stopped in front of his desk, a concerned look on her face.

"Are you alright, Alexander?"

Alex's expression twisted into confusion. "Of course, why would you ask?"

"Alex...your poem was...a cause for concern. I talked to administration and skimmed your files-"

Alex cut her off, "My _files_?"

She nodded hesitantly, "Alex, I know you have a history of-"

"No, hold on a second," Alex snapped, momentarily forgetting that he was talking to an authority figure, and, quite frankly, not caring. "Since when do staff members have access to medical files?"

"Since staff members get worried about their students and ask permission to access-" Professor Abigail stopped, took a deep breath, and composed herself. "Alexander, I was worried about you. I just want what's best for you."

"You know what," Alex said, and he stood up, swinging his bag onto his shoulder. "Everyone says that, but they don't actually mean it." He locked onto her with a hard glare, then turned on his heel and stormed out, letting the door swing shut behind him.

X

Alex made his way back to his dorm in a trance, barely registering where his feet were taking him.

Thoughts were swirling around in his head, too fast to process properly, and the only thing he could focus on through the storm was the fact that he was losing control again.

His fingers fumbled with the key as he opened the door to his room, numbly working their way through the movements he did on a daily basis.

Dropping his bag and coat on his bed, Alex made his way into the bathroom, where he braced his hands on the counter and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

He didn't even recognize himself anymore.

His hair had grown longer in the past few months, barely brushing his shoulder blades. His eyes seemed to be deeper set into his skull, the tired shadows surrounding them darkening the effect. His skin was almost gray in color, having lost it's tan, warm appeal in place of a ghostly, haunted look.

All in all, he looked like a zombie.

Alex dropped his gaze to the drawer directly below the sink. A thought of remembrance sparked somewhere in the back of his brain, and he pulled the drawer open, feeling for the slight bump on the side towards the back.

He calmly peeled up the tape from the side of the drawer, revealing the razor, which glinted dully in the light of the bathroom.

He felt hollow as he rolled up the sleeve on his left arm, ignoring the layers of scar tissue already embedded in the flesh of his forearm. It occurred in a detached way how many times he'd been in this exact position, how many moments he'd spent doing this.

The first cut was always the worst.

He dragged the razor across the skin near his elbow, slower at first, then faster as he realized how deep he had actually cut.

Alex had been clean for almost four months, which was a hell of a long time for him. He'd almost forgotten the sting, the burning sensation that came with slicing your skin open again.

Almost, but not quite.

After the initial shock wore off, he relished in the way it stung, how he finally was getting the release he'd been wanting for so long. It was a horrible thing to admit, but the feeling of blood slowly trickling down his arm was a reassurance, a way to regain control.

He cut again, and again, and again, until there were six clean, straight cuts, each deep enough to leave a noticeable scar.

Well, as noticeable as they could get on his already messed up arms.

They hurt like a bitch, too. In a good way, of course, (he noted how sad it was that he was saying that hurting felt good again), and he slowly rolled down his left sleeve, wincing slightly when the fabric dragged roughly across the tender skin.

Alex methodically put the razor back, flushed the toilet paper he'd used to staunch the bleeding, and left the bathroom, leaving almost no hint or clue to what had happened.

X

He drifted through the rest of the week, numbly going to class and then home, repeating the methodical routine over and over again.

He found himself out on the steps again, the stars glimmering coldly overhead, a plume of smoke escaping from his parted lips as he gazed blankly into the darkness.

Footsteps crunched on the snowy cement behind him.

"You don't smoke." Laf's voice was accusing, and Alex coughed out a humorless laugh.

"Yeah, well I don't cut anymore either, but here we are."

He realized his mistake after a second and sighed. "Shit."

Laf blinked at him from his spot underneath the streetlight. "You're cutting again?"

Alex took one last drag from his cigarette and dropped it to the ground, crushing the butt under the heel of his converse. "Forget I said anything."

"Alex, if you're cutting again, we need to tell John!"

"No, we don't," Alex snapped, and his eyes sparked. "It was one time. I didn't-"

He forced his tone to soften. "It was a mistake, okay? Please don't tell John. He has enough to worry about."

A memory flashed through Laf's head: Alex, eyes watery and face flushed, standing in the middle of the bathroom. _"Don't tell John."_

A month later he'd been admitted to a hospital because Lafayette had found him dying in his dorm room.

Something inside of Laf broke, and he shook his head, "I can't keep doing this, Alex. I can't keep lying to John for you.

"It's not _lying_ ," Alex argued, and Laf pursed his mouth.

"This is it, Alex. I'm done. This is the last time, okay? After this you're on your own."

Alex visibly relaxed. "Thank you, Laf."

"On one condition."

Alex's eyes narrowed.

Laf held out his hand, as he had all those weeks ago after finding Alex in the cafeteria bathroom. "I want your blades. And I want those cigarettes."

Alex clenched his jaw, then dug in his pocket and reluctantly handed over the box before turning and heading inside. Laf followed him up the three flights of stairs to his room. The halls were silent, save for the echo of their soft footsteps on the hall carpet.

Alex jammed the key into the lock and pushed open the door, stepping across the threshold. He flipped on the overhead light and headed into the bathroom, where he angrily wrenched open a drawer. Laf hesitantly followed him and watched as Alex stuck his fingernail under a lip of tape stuck to the side of the drawer. He peeled it up, revealing a razor blade on the underside, and dropped in into Laf's outstretched hand.

He then got on his knees and pulled open the cabinet doors under the sink and felt around, finally coming up with another piece of tape, followed by another blade.

"Is that it..." Laf trailed off as Alex got up and pushed past him nudging him out of the way. He was obviously unhappy about the event occurring at the time being, yet Lafayette knew that if he hadn't intervened Alex would have ended up in hard-core therapy-or the hospital.

He wandered back into the main room, where Alex was fiddling with the underside of his desk. After about fifteen seconds of picking at the tape, he pulled it up and handed the razor to Laf, a resigned and angry expression hindering his normally calm features.

"Alex, I know this is hard for you-"

Alex cut him off, staring off somewhere around Laf's knees. "Please leave."

"I-What?"

"Please leave," Alex repeated, his voice tired, and he finally met Laf's eyes. They were duller than usual, blanketed by sadness and something darker, something concerning.

Laf nodded, slightly hurt, and turned to leave, making his way across the room. He had just opened the door when he turned back to look at Alex.

"I know you feel alone right now Alex, but I'm always here for you. I hope you know that." He smiled a sad smile, then stepped into the hallway and shut the door.

Alex sank into his desk chair, head in hands.


End file.
